


Room 93

by davidacorn



Category: Bandom, Blink-182
Genre: Daddy Kink, Drug Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, alright these things, alternating pov, but only in one chapter so, but thats weed so, oh yeah and smut, there's a lot of music references but I got you on that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7461816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davidacorn/pseuds/davidacorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fanfic based on Halsey's Room 93 EP. (No, you don't need to know it to understand the fic.) Happens in fall of 2004, where Tom and Mark cannot agree so Travis, Jen, and Skye shove them in the Pink Motel to help them fix their problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is the longest fanfic I've ever wrote and I also waited until I completed it to post it, yay me. Thank you to all who've helped me write it.

MARK POV

 _“Enough.”_  
Travis got up off of the beanbag chair in our garage and stood up between Tom and I. This has been going on for months- Tom would just speak something in the wrong tone, and I’d give him the look, and then he’d open his mouth once more and I’d have to step closer to him to sternly tell him to fuck off. Travis was used to this by now. Hell, he’d pull off drum solos or write while we were fighting most of the time. Sometimes, however, he’d break us up.  
“I’m tired of you guys fighting. It’s honestly so fucking juvenile- you act like 9 year olds fighting for a toy. But this is blink that you’re affecting, I can’t be around either of you for 3 hours because all you do is bicker like a damn married couple.”  
I try to open my mouth, but he can tell that I’m still furious, and he cuts me off.  
“No, Mark. You guys are going to fix this. Skye, Jen, and I have found a solution.” Tom and I glance at each other hesitantly. This isn’t going to be good- Travis never consults Jen and babe unless it’s serious (or unless he wants to arrange a nice picnic, which he does occasionally, he’s really nice and loves us.. but this isn’t that case.) He knows we all can’t open a bottle of wine and swing our babies on sets and have it all okay, because it isn’t okay. Tom and I are broken.  
He purses his lip, then looks at Tom. I’m not sure why he averts his look from me.  
“You guys are going to live together,”  
We stay silent.  
“It’s only temporary. Skye and Jen and I talked about it over a nice cup of coffee. They think it’s best. Now, you guys won’t be in confinement- You’ll have your cars, but the thing is, you can’t visit your wives or any other family, and you guys can’t completely avoid each other. And, you’re not “in hiding.” More or less, “incognito.”  
Tom opened his mouth. Fuck that smartass mouth, fuck what it was about to say. “How long does this last?”  
Travis smirked, which also pissed me off, but it comforted me. Tom had a good question, I’ll give him that. Maybe I should stop taking everything he says seriously, ever since I married Skye my tolerance with him has lessoned below Death Valley. It seemed mutual, at least. “Until both of you jack-offs can make up like a newlywed couple again. Don't you think that’s reasonable, Mark?” I don't know why, but I feel like Travis, standing there with his sticks in his hands all casual, is almost challenging me. Although Tom starts the fights.  
“Yeah.” I mumbled, taking a good look at Tom. He was wearing black jeans with black shoes and a Misfits tee shirt- a casual outfit of his. He owns more Misfits tee shirts than the Misfits themselves.  
“Tommy?” Travis nudged at him with his drumstick and a smug grin.  
“Sure, this isn’t going to fix itself,” he said tensely, almost like he didn't want to admit it. I don’t want to admit there’s a problem either, even if it’s in front of my face. I don’t confront the truth very well.  
“Great, you guys have the rest of today to get your shit packed. I’ll drive you to the motel tomorrow.”  
Awesome, I’m going to be in a motel (prison) with Tom DeLonge (asshole) for as long as possible until we make up. That's exactly how I want to spend this autumn. But whatever, blink is worth more than my pride.  
I hope Tom sees it that way, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> Misfits: an old horror punk band


	2. Is There Somewhere?

MARK POV

I followed Travis in my car with Tom and I’s stuff in the trunk. Tom texted me earlier that day and told me that he didn’t feel like packing it all in his car, and I had more space, so I had to go over there before this whole shenanigan started. Which, I am still dreading, and I could tell Tom was when I went to his house with a lousy wifebeater on, barely brushed hair, and a cup of coffee in his hand.  
As I pull up to the motel, I’m already dreading the inevitable death which will be me, living with Tom DeLonge, asshole extraordinaire. Tom parked his car next to mine, getting out and waving goodbye to Travis as he screamed, “Have fun, boys!”   
While I was getting out of my car, Tom unlocked the door. Room 93, at the Pink Hotel, my temporary mental institution. I grabbed my red luggage bag, rolled it to the room, then went and grabbed my bass. After I was unpacked, I sat on the bed, then raised my brows at Tom. His brown eyes locked with mine, and then he grunted and sauntered out to my car and brought his luggage in along with his guitar.   
Well, this is going to be a blast, I’m already having a damn party. And, I’m realizing that there’s only one bed in this motel, and Travis has really fucked us over, and I don’t want to be stuck with Tom, and I also don’t want to fight with Tom, because Tom’s my best friend, and…. He says something that catches me out of my fairytale.   
“So, Mark. How do you think this is going to work? There’s only one bed,” he said as he sat down next to me, then resting an arm on my shoulder lightly, almost like he was scared to touch me like I was a rabid dog. “I mean, I don’t mind sleeping with you, it’s not like it hasn’t happened before. Is that okay with you?”   
Was he.. Before? For some reason, I don't think he’s talking about those times we bunked on the tour bus. Admittedly, there was a lot of platonic sleeping around with him. And, also not a lot. Most of the time, it was platonic sleeping that wanted to be more, but Travis or Scott was always around, so it never escalated.“Yeah it’s fine, just don’t try to grope my ass in the middle of the night wanting some.” I offered a soft smile over to him.  
Tom chuckled at me, “Oh, you flatter me so much Marky, especially considering you were telling me to eat shit yesterday,” he nudged my shoulder and got up, then went to the bathroom. “You know how much I care about ya, Mark? I bought air freshener. You always forget that detail.”   
“Thanks, shitstain, it means so much. Except if I remember right, you’re the one with the bowel problems.” I tease at him, and as he closes the door he announces that he’s gonna take a shower. I didn’t even realize he got his clothes ready, which, knowing Tom, is probably just going to be loose boxers and a white tee shirt, and he won’t dry his hair afterwards. So, this leaves me a half hour to do nothing other than unpack my clothes and fiddle around on my bass. I brought a couple books, too, but with Tom around I wasn’t sure how much I’d be reading, so I took books I’ve already read here. If I need more, which I doubt, I can always go to the store to do so. I think the only condition to this whole prison is that Tommy and I need to stay together at most times until we work out our problems. Which, are more or less musical problems, but we still need to solve them. If Tom wasn’t such an egotistical narcissist, solving problems with him would be a lot easier, but he has to be correct about every damn thing, or accuse me of being incorrect. I’ll even admit that half the time, I probably am wrong, but fueling Tommy’s alien inside of him that is his conscience of vanity is not on my agenda.   
Minutes pass of me fiddling around with my bass, and I really, really need to piss. I should just walk into the bathroom, right? I think this motel has a glass shower door, but it's not like I haven’t seen Tommy naked before.   
I debate it for what seems like forever, and I finally decide that I absolutely have to go in there. I don’t even knock on the door, I open it without warning, and there I see Tom DeLonge standing there watching himself in the mirror, jerking off. I didn't really care to get a longer look at him, except he stood there like a huge neon highway sign. He locked eyes with me, beautiful doe eyes full of lust with cheeks the color of apples, and then kinda smiled, (I think?) and said:  
“Mark. Get the hell out of here.”  
I could tell I raised my eyebrows as I took a look down at his hands covering his junk, and then chuckled, “Never suppressed the addiction, huh? I always knew you were still 17..”  
“Mark.”  
I laughed again and walked out, but I still absolutely had to piss so bad.   
“And hurry up in there tallboy. I walked in cause I gotta piss.”

Day one was such a cute picnic gathering. Except now I can’t get the image of Tommy standing there, an almost 30 year old man, rubbing his dick and watching his face as he did it. If I didn’t think he was a narcissist, (I absolutely did) I would by now. But somehow, I found myself more intrigued in it all. I’m living with my best friend now for the first time alone, and his behavior on the tour bus has been a lot different than it is right now. This is who Jen’s fallen in love with? Who I--

“Please don’t get revenge on me jerking off in the bathroom by jerking off on this bed tonight Mark,” Tom suddenly mumbled, almost sounding worried that I would actually do that.  
“Of course not Tom. Can’t blame you for looking at yourself in the mirror, either.”   
“What the fucking fuck does that mean, Hoppus?” He turned to look at me, and all I could see was his brown eyes and I knew I was fucked. I looked into those eyes and felt like I was 19 again, and that was not what I needed. I don’t need to fall in love with Tom DeLonge all over again, I’m not 19 anymore and I don’t need him. I don’t need him.   
Except I do, he’s my best friend and my bandmate and the best guitarist I know. The best person I know.  
“...Nothing, Tom. Go to sleep.”   
He chuckled then turned over. “Okay, Marky. You too.”

* * *

  
Day two started rocky. At one point we picked up our instruments, but we couldn’t agree on what to play, and although it wasn’t heated, it was very cold.  
“Aliens Exist.”  
“No. Dammit.”  
Tom hit me with a long sigh, “No. Degenerate?”  
“No,” I scanned my mind for a song that both of us sing, because it was obvious that he wanted to sing just as much as I did. “Every Time I Look for You?”  
“Send more letters…..ends up betterrrrrrrrrrrrr.”” Tom sang in an overly high (and also overly annoying) way.   
“Stockholm Syndrome? C’mon Tom, you're killing me.” I finally just sighed because I knew no matter what I said, it was a no. There’s only so much you can do before you decide to give up, so I finally just started fiddling around and playing things with no rhyme or reason. Tom picked up on that, too, so we did our thing with no collaboration involved.  
As the night droned out, nothing else happened. Him and I went to the grocery store together, and he made sure he grabbed two big bags of potato chips and french onion dip, then teased me about French.  
“Je ne vous aime pas,” he poked at me, as if I was paying attention to him and not the spaghetti sauce in front of me that I had to choose from. “Mark, you know what that means?”  
I turned over to him and rolled my eyes. “I want Mark to make us spaghetti for us to eat since I don’t even know how to boil water.”  
“I don’t like you.”  
“You didn’t have to say that in English for me to know that. I can tell by just looking at you, Tommy.” I sighed and grabbed a can then started walking as he lurked behind me.  
“Jen dabbles in French.” He said as he grabbed a can of corn. “Just thought I’d show you how much of a smartie pants I am.”   
“I think you mean smartass,” I chuckled at him as I grabbed some peas, “And I knew both of those.”   
Tom punched my shoulder lightly, just like old times. “You know me all too well, Marky. It's almost like we haven’t been in a band for twelve years .”

* * *

 

I woke up the next morning with a call from Syke.  
“Hey baby,” I said, looking over to see Tom in the chair in the room, reading a newspaper. I assumed he grabbed it from the lobby.  
“Were you still sleeping?” She asked with a fake concern in her voice. Skye was one of those people that genuinely want to seem nice to you, but I can tell that she wasn’t actually concerned considering when I married her I told her all my time was hers. She was notorious about using it, too, along with baby Jack.   
“Yeah love. But it’s okay, I need to be awake anyway. How have you been?”  
“I’ve been great, and Jack has been too. He’s been wondering where you are and I keep telling him you’re spending time with uncle Tom.”  
I chuckled at that- I forgot we call the asshole in the same room “uncle Tom.” But that’s who he is to Jack, Tom is family. “Yeah. Tell him I miss him. And I miss you too, Skye.”  
“The feeling’s mutual love. Has everything been going well?” I bit my lip. Being honest, I’d say it’s been stagnant, but lying I could say it’s been amazing. Lying will make her hope this to be over in two weeks, but it’s the third day and there isn’t a way this is getting fixed within this month. “Tom and I have been communicating,” I paused, trying to go a more positive direction. “But I don’t know how positive it’s all been going.”  
I heard her sigh, wishing I could unhear it. I heard it all a million times, every time I punched Tom, every time I shot words at him. “Travis and Jen said this would take months. Are you fighting?”  
“They’re probably right, and not so far babe.”   
“Okay, that’s good. I’ll text you later love.”  
“Alright. I love you.”  
“I love you too.” She hung up first.

“Worried about spending months with me, huh?” Tom chuckled at me, getting up just to lay down on the bed with his arms behind his head. “It’s okay, I am too. Sometimes, I don’t know how Jen puts up with me. Or you and Travis.”  
I looked down at him, changing my shirt. I got the strong feeling that his eyes were lingering on my chest, but I still put on a new shirt regardless. I’m not 19 anymore, right? There’s no reason to tease him.   
“It’s cause we love you, dork.” I said, laying back down next to him, my head propped up on my hand. “You’re a lot more tolerable when you’re not being a hothead.”  
“Thanks.” He rolled his eyes, but I still watched him. We locked eyes for too long of a time- long enough for me to see how his eyes looked golden in this lighting, long enough to feel that my mind was just yearning to topple over his body and kiss him. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts. I’m married and I have a family, and so does Tom the asshole himself… but as much as I know I shouldn’t, I want it just as bad. I just want more than anything to feel his lips on my skin, to feel the sweet embrace that is Tom DeLonge. Is that all so wrong? Could I get away with it? I’m stranded somewhere with him for months, who says we couldn’t go somewhere else in addition, somewhere more loving. Somewhere where I can love him every moment like I did, like we did, somewhere stuck in the moment.  
Is there somewhere?  
“Mark. We should really try to write something today. I’ve already got ideas, and-”  
“Yeah yeah, Tom,” I knocked myself out of my daydreaming in his eyes. “You’re right. Let’s rock n roll.”  
“There’s the Mark I,” he paused and shook his head, his brown hair slightly moving with the motion, “know.”

I lit up a cigarette on the bed as he pulled out a notebook. It was a red one, probably didn’t spend more than 50 cents on it. Surprisingly enough, the covers were covered with doodles- but I knew, knowing Tom, there was barely anything on the inside. Tom was the type of person to put more on the outside of everything than on the inside.. and, if anyone cared enough to see what was past the exterior, he could wing it well enough to make it seem believable.   
Tom looked at me from the ground which he was sitting on under me, biting on his lip ring until he dared to say something.   
“I write poetry quite often. I’m not going to show you all of it, just this one part. And before you laugh at me, I know some shit on you Hoppus.”  
“I don’t know why you think I’d laugh at you.” I scratch my neck, “I take your work very seriously.”  
He ignored that and started reading something aloud.  
“Mom always told me she knew about me,  
Daddy told me I’d have problems later.  
I only want to be let be,  
Tommy wants to be a meteorite crater.”  
“Read it all to me, Tom.” I said, really intrigued in what little part that was. I had no clue he could easily be a poet, a great one at that.  
“No.”  
“Tom,” I smirked at him, “I know you. You didn’t write it for only you to see, but you’re never going to use it because it isn’t a song. So just read it to me. Please?”  
He swallowed his spit and I could tell that he was nervous, though I had no idea what it meant.  
“Eyes that I could drown in,  
A mouth that could charm snakes.  
Boy held a voice that made people spin,  
Months with that could remove my mistakes.  
Holding me at night was better with time,  
We had secrets only we could tell.  
How is it that I can almost hold a rhyme,  
But regardless I’m going to hell?  
Mom always said she knew about me,  
Daddy told me I'd have problems later.   
I only want to be let be,  
Tommy wants to be a meteorite crater.   
I swallow pills dry every night because I’m crazy,  
And he smokes the cancer that will kill his lungs.  
Can’t help it that my judgement’s hazy,  
Or that I speak in tongues.

There, there it is Mark.”

I was in absolute awe, and I didn't know how to respond with anything other than, “I love it Tom.”  
“Thank you.”  
“It’s my pleasure.” It’s all my pleasure, being here right by him, loving him, being his best friend. “I know I’ve said things about you being a shitty writer, but it’s not true. I swear it isn't.”  
“I know it isn’t Marky. You say things you don’t mean when I piss you off. I’m sorry I piss you off so much.” We locked eyes again, seeing the gold, but I looked away. I need to stop looking at his eyes and at his stupid lips and at his face, and everything that makes Tom DeLonge, Tom DeLonge.  
“..It’s fine, Tommy. We can’t always please everyone.” But I know he wants to please me, right? That’s why he agreed to this whole living together as lab rats thing.   
Tom smiled at me, “You’re right. Just like always.”  
“Always?” I laughed at that one, because I never feel right about anything.  
“And I’ll miss your laugh, your smillleeeee,” Tom mused, as if I didn’t hear him sing this song enough, “I’ll admit I’m wrong if you tell meeeeeee..” The singer got onto the bed, resting his head on my shoulder. “I’m so sick of fights, I hate themmmmm, let’s start this again, for reaaalll..”  
I laughed and made him look at me. “Is this an apology for being such an asshat?”  
Tom stuck his tongue out at me. “Of course it is, Mark Hoppus. Would there have been a better way?”  
I could think of a few, but none of them were appropriate at all.  
“Absolutely not.”

* * *

 

“Mark,” Tom says, poking me and causing me to yank my earbuds out. Tom and I decided that regardless of what’s going on, I’ll have time to read. So, he dicks around and I ignore him and read whatever’s in front of me. I picked up a copy of _A Separate Peace_ because it’s such a classic, I could read it a million times and never get bored.  
“Yes Tom?” I said, sticking my sticky note on the page while he crawls on my lap, in a casual, friendly way. “Uh..” I mumble as he starts, but it’s too late, because he’s already draped across me like a lapdog. “Personal… space?”  
“No Mark.” I’m not sure he recognized that what I said wasn’t a yes/no question. “Guess what’s in this bag.”  
“Weed, pot, alcohol, bitches, strippers, a million dollars?”  
“No. Yes? Weed and pot and alcohol.”  
“Weed.. AND pot? Is this fucking Christmas?” I laughed at him and I saying that, it was an inside joke from years ago. “This is why I miss having you around, Tommy.” I said as I grabbed the bag from him, grabbing the bottle of vodka out of it. I am very very excited. I don’t get to drink like I used to, or smoke. Being a father and a husband can be exhausting.  
“So, ya missed me, huh, Marky?” Tom chuckled as he grabbed the alcohol from me, opened it, and took a swig of it. “You know, you better miss me. I am the enabler of the trio.”  
“Eat my ass.” I laughed as I took the bottle. “The real question is… did you get a bowl, joint papers, or blunt rolls?”  
“Well,” Tom chuckled as he grabbed another bag (How did I not notice a second one?) and pulled out a bong.  
“Oh fuck,” I smiled wide at Tom, seeing excitement in his eyes. I could tell that tonight was going to be a really good night already. “How much?”  
“3gs. But it’s reggie.”  
“Ha. G’s, reggie. You almost sound like a skateboarder again, as if you aren’t almost 30.”  
“And you sound pretty schoolgirl giddy for three grams of funky skunk and some alcohol, as if you’re not over 30.” Tom said as he got off of me, sitting on the ground like he typically does in a criss-cross applesauce position, and then urged me to come down. “We can do three and three, or one and one. Doesn’t matter to me.”  
“Yeah, you were never picky,” I said as I moved down next to him, taking the bowl from him and starting to pack it.   
Tom pfft’d at me- “Pretty excited to smoke again. How long has it been?”  
I stayed silent as I thought. Skye? No, we’ve done it before but not as she was pregnant. And Jack’s little, but it happens rarely. And with Travis and Tom.. a good 10 months maybe? We don't smoke on tour typically anymore. So.. “10 months probably. It was with you and Travis.”  
“Damn. Mark’s a daddy.” Tom giggled at me and hit my shoulder, then went to down some of the drink. I’m not sure why, but this reminded me of old times. Tom would joke something suggestive, I’d laugh it over then keep smoking. For some reason, hearing him say “daddy” like that made me want a little more, but I ignored that as I took another hit, then another, then passing it to the brunette.   
“Smoked a bong, killed a cat, had my nuts attacked by rats-” I started,  
“Dad got nude, I wore a thong, for a hobby I make bombs!” Tom finished off with a giggle. His eyes were nearly pink even though little time’s passed, but regardless, his brown eyes were still beautiful.   
We kept going at it, shooting the shit. Not much was said about Jen or Skye, except I did manage to ask him if he’s talked to Jen at all. He says she texts him good morning and good night and things like that but that she’s been distant. And although I almost feel bad for him, I almost can't, y’know, that’s his wife and it isn’t my place to tell whether or not it was good. And then he said something about how he wanted to listen to music, so I got out my MP3 and turned it on shuffle. I knew Tom would like almost anything on there, cause we’re in a band, but as soon as Fat Lip by Sum 41 started, it was almost like Tom was in a daze.  
And, I joined in.   
So if someone were to look in here right now, they’d see two grown men sitting on the ground with a bong and shouting out some skate park song that would be overlooked in a decade, probably. But right now I had all the time in the world with Tom DeLonge, all the time to be in love.   
The night went loud and then quiet and we sobered up a bit, but we still goofed around. First it was singing, then it was dancing, then it was just sitting around, and I remembered what it was like to be so alive again. At one point, Tom decided he’d tell me we had spray paint, and.. well, we had to stay outside for a good couple hours. When we finally decided to go back in, we were exhausted from sitting in one spot in the car, and it smelled like an old skate park. It was very intense, but considering the wall had “BLINK-182” written on it with a cool background, I couldn’t complain. I opened the window, and then we just laid down on the bed.  
Around 3, we were on our backs looking up at the ceiling (we painted a galaxy up there) and then we looked at each other. I could still tell even at 3 in the morning that Tom was still Tom- constantly drained, constantly full.   
“Tom.”  
“Yes Mark?”  
“I’m never sure I fell out of love with you.”  
“What?” Tom asked, as his eyebrows came together and looked very puzzled. I'm not very sure I thought about what I said before I said it, so I’ll say it again:  
“I love you Tom.”  
“I love you too, Mark.” He smiled at me innocently, then bit at his lip ring in what seemed like apprehension.   
“No, Tommy,” I said as I softly cupped his face with my hand, feeling slight stubble growing on the side of his face. I forgot what his face felt like, cupping it like it was mine. “I’m in love with you. Like when we were teenagers, punks and free to do whatever the fuck we wanted.” I put a slight emphasis on “fuck” because I’m not free now. Life has me chained up to a wall and likes to beat at me whenever it feels like it. But right now, Tom’s my wall. (Wonderwall, maybe. We sang that earlier too.)  
“Mark, you’re fucked.” He smirked at me, his hand somehow falling down to my waist, then somehow pulling me on top of him. “But I know. I’m in love with you too.”   
I kissed him. And time stopped, the planets aligned. I kissed him like I haven’t in a decade. (I haven’t.) And I kissed him and kissed him and fell in love with the way he moved with me, the way his lips were tender, the way he liked to hold my hips down as I made out with him.  
I’m making out with Tom DeLonge, my best friend that I’ve been in captivity with for 4 days. Does it get better from here? It's almost like a dream.  
My question was answered when Tom started tugging at my pants. I don’t know how long we had been making out by then. It doesn’t matter, my pants were gone, and I was grinding on him, underwear on underwear. I wonder if him not wearing pants ever is an invitation for me to go down on him anytime, or if he actually loathed wearing pants that much.   
The taller brunette under me was moaning. Moaning my name, moaning for me to do something to him. I almost forgot how submissive he actually was, but god did I want to grant his wish.   
“What's the magic word, Tommy?”  
“Please.”  
“No no. The other one.” I say as I bite lightly on his ear, breathing into it. I don’t know if we were inebriated at this point- there was still alcohol on our breath, but I didn’t think it impaired us much anymore.   
“Daddy.”  
Fuck, there it is. Let me say, finding out you have a daddy kink with your best friend was not the best moment ever. (Okay, yes it was. It was hot quick fucking in my bedroom, and I had him pinned down and said, “Fuck, Tommy. Call me daddy and you get whatever you want.”)  
“Fuck, Tommy. Call me that one more time and you get whatever you want.”  
Not much has changed.   
“Daddy,” he whined in that high pitched voice of his, pulling his and then my underwear down, and I felt my hard on touch his. Sometimes I forgot how much I longed for this moment. “Hold my arms down and jerk us both off.. I forgot what your dick felt on mine Marky.”  
I granted his wish, slowly at first. I wanted to tease Tom for as long as I could, my left hand holding his arms down and my right hand holding both of us, both of us moving our hips to try to get a rhythm. I watch his face move, it’s all pink and his eyes are half-lidded. He looks like such a babe in this 4 am lighting, such a babe so naked and so mine. Tom DeLonge is a piece of art. A piece of extraterrestrial art, something godly that not even NASA could describe even if he asked them to. (He would, too.)   
“I love you.”  
“And I love you as well.” Tom said as he tried to kiss me and wrap his arms around my neck, but I wouldn’t let him.  
“No no,” I smirked at him, leaning down to nibble on his neck. It was almost salty, which also didn't surprise me. “You’re all mine tonight, kitten.”  
“Ooh, kitten. Going back to the early nineties are we?” Tom teased at me, “Almost sounds like you want me to dress up too for ya.”  
“Fucking shut up, Tommy.” I growled at him, squeezing his wrists a lot harder than I have been.   
He moaned at that, and not too long after, he came. And then I followed suit, and he got a rag and cleaned us off, and after that he put his underwear back on. The fucker had his tube socks on the whole time- like, what the hell? Are you 12?  
After that, I cuddled up to him, but I was the smaller spoon. That was the funny thing about us, always had been- whoever topped that night, was the big spoon, but it was never a constant I was on top he was on bottom thing. Really, he was on top, but it depended on how we were. And I will admit, there have definitely been times Tom’s had me against a wall screaming for him, panting out things like “I’m yours, choke me baby,” and well, a lot more. Tonight, it was me.  
“I love you,” Tom said as he kissed my neck softly. I love it when I felt Tom’s lips against my skin, something so soft but perfect.  
“I love you too dork.” I smiled. I’ve never been happier, I don’t think.   
I don’t know where this is going, but whatever it may be, it’s just beginning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> because only lyrics were said, Degenerate  
> Fat Lip//Sum 41  
> Wonderwall//Oasis  
> A Separate Peace: A book about these two boys named Finny (sports star) and Gene (book nerd) and Gene ends up ruining his life. It's one of my favorite books.


	3. Ghost

MARK POV

After a couple weeks of living together, Tom and I developed a routine. However, the more we developed a routine, the less and less we collaborated efficiently on music. If Tom was the Sex Pistols, I was the Ramones. If Tom was Blur, I was Oasis. And, in more obvious terms, if I was Mark, he was Tom. Though I loved him above everything, he was a huge pain in the ass, especially considering he just didn’t want to fucking work with me. I had to get over Box Car Racer, but he never really apologized for it even though he knew it hurt me.  
And now, I’m looking at him with his guitar on the chair, as I’m on the bed with my bass.  
“What about something that sounds like Enema with more Untitled lyrics?” I say, glaring at him because it's my one and only true idea.  
“First of all, the last album is self titled, and second of all, I’d rather have my ass ate than make another Enema song.” Tom pursed his lip. He was very upset at me, I could tell, and very tense. But I don’t know what to tell him.  
“What about something more Sum 41-ish?”  
Tom laughed a huge no.  
“Bad Religion?”  
Once again, another no.  
“Tom, you aren’t collaborating with me. I really, really need you to right now.”  
“I don’t know what to fucking tell you, Mark.” He snapped at me, putting his pick in the strings then laying his buddy in the case. “I can’t play with you anymore.”  
“You’re being ridiculous,” I shove myself off the bed, inching my way to him in a consoling manner. “Tommy, you met me when you were 16. We’ve had some tough times, you know? This is just a phase, alright baby?” I wrapped my arms around his neck, looking into his beautiful brown eyes. I love his eyes, and his face, and the way he’s gnawing at his lip ring right now.  
“Are you sure, Mark?” He asked sweetly, kissing my forehead, “It isn’t just me?”  
“No, it isn't.”  
“Okay, good,” My baby kissed my forehead again, then hugged me and then had me sit on his waist. It’s almost weird being coddled like this, I’m so unused to it by now, but at the same time, Tom felt like home. And although sometimes the home isn't stable and the roof leaks, or sometimes I move away, he’s home. I raked a hand through his brunette hair and then kissed his lips softly. They tasted like cotton candy chapstick. Not like the good girly chapstick that’s smooth, either- hard, plasticlike, probably the actual ChapStick brand. It’s honestly such a hard thing on your lips, I don't know how he puts up with it. But I guess he’s used to that by now…  
Just then, Tom’s phone started ringing. Tom didn’t put me down, though, but it was by his side of the bed so he walked us over.  
“It’s Travis,” the brunette half-spoke to me as I sat down on the bed, wondering why Travis was calling. I guess to check in.  
“Hey Trav, it’s Tom. I’m gonna put you on speaker. Mark’s right here.” Tom sat down next to me and rested his head on my shoulder, and I set my hand on his thigh playfully. I wondered if he knew I was going to seduce him-  
“Hey Travis,” I said. “What’s up?”  
“Nothing really, just calling to check on you two knuckleheads. How’s it going?”  
I thought about answering, but I honestly didn’t want to tell him. I raised my eyebrows at the brunette, because I knew if I didn’t speak, he was going to tell Travis everything. Travis, he probably hoped, would know how to fix the fact we aren’t collaborating.Then again, he also knows Travis can’t, so he might just go off about me. I muted him out as I slowly moved my hand, going around to grab his crotch-  
“Tst. And.. uh.. he doesn’t really ever want to please me in what I want, but I mean, it’s Mark-”  
“That’s not true.” I cut him off, unzipping his pants quietly. He had a hard on now, but I still continued teasing him. “You’re the one who doesn’t want to work with me, Tom,” I tried to sound almost angry on the phone, enough for Travis to buy into our anger. I couldn’t tell if Tom was angry or not right now- he seemed to be going on a pretty long rant about me, one that has him tense, but the tense part could be me touching his dick. I guess I’ll never know.  
I caught a glimpse of Tom putting the phone on mute as I got on my knees. “What the fuck, Mark?”  
“Just trying to please you.” With one wink, I softly kissed the head of his dick, and then looked back at him. “Well, are you gonna continue talking to him?” Tom sighed slightly and put a hand on my head, slowly digging his fingers into my short hair.  
“I hate you…” Tom turned the phone off mute and started to talk to Travis again, “Sorry about that, Mark was bitching at me and I figured you were, uh- tired… of that.” The more and more Tom talked to Travis, the more and more torturing I decided I’d make this. I swirled my tongue around the head every time he finished a sentence, took him whole in the middle of one. The tighter he pulled my hair, the less I'd please him. I’m sure he’s used to my routine by now, and I’m also fairly certain he’s missed it.  
“So, are you guys improving on anything? Also, where the fuck is he?”  
I smirked a little bit, moving my mouth to his head and slowly jerking him off with one of my hands.  
“Yeah, we’re improving some.. and he walked into the bathroom. I guess he’s taking an intense dump or something.”  
“Dude, can I talk to him?” Travis almost sounded concerned, maybe it was because Tom was talking mad shit about me and I wasn’t saying anything.  
“Yeah, I’ll call him out. MARK!” Tom projected in the direction of the bathroom, but I still kept sucking him off. I’m very glad that he somehow managed to scream my name and not moan it out. It turned me on, a little bit too much, but right now it was all about Tom. I kept it up for a minute longer until he tapped my head, which was my signal I was taking too long.  
“Is it Trav still?” I asked as I crawled my way on the bed, Tom mumbled yes, and then I said hey.  
“Is everything that Tom’s said true?” I looked at Tom with an unsure face, but he nodded yeah, so I said yeah without reluctance, and then Travis started talking about how him and I just needed to sit down and have a long talk before it gets any worse. He also said that if we don’t do it soon, it will get worse. But I wasn’t listening super close, Tom was kissing at my neck and clawing at my jeans-  
“Yeah, you’re right Travis. Him and I really do need to have a talk. We both just need to figure out what we need, right?” I was actually asking, because that was my only thought, but I just honestly needed Tom to pin me against the bed right now. He wasn’t wearing pants anymore, and I kept stealing looks at him, and each look I got made me want to tear off his stupid Atticus shirt and have him rip me apart in the worst way possible..  
“Right. But you both can’t scapegoat, that’s how you guys ended up fucked sideways in the first place, alright?”  
“Alright,” Tom interjected, “Do you think we can do that, Mark?” He said that as he started stroking my cock slightly. I choked out a broken “Y-yeah..” and that was when I realized that Tom had won this battle, the battle of teasing. I also knew that it meant I’d probably be teased (tortured) until I finally begged for him to fuck me, because that’s what he does. He wears me out, then after I’m broken he gives me what I want. He’s so dominant when he wants to be.. I don’t know if I loathe it or love it, but as A Separate Peace once said, there was no harm in envying even your best friend a little, and I guess that’s what I do.  
“Okay. You guys better,” Travis said sternly, then finished: “I guess I’ll go. Hit me up if it starts to get bad.”  
“Okay Travis,” I said.  
“See you,” Tom hung up the phone, then harshly knocked me on the white sheets. “God, what the fuck is wrong with you..” he spat slowly, and oh fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on ever. But I can’t let him win, obviously. I mean, my name is Mark.  
“Well what are you gonna do, Tommy? Gag me, tie me up… your possibilities are endless now that we’re not on a tour bus anymore.” I lingered my lips under him, looking into his eyes. He was so full of rage, so out of it for me. All mine..  
“You do need punished. Thanks for the idea.” The brunette kissed my lips faintly, then moved to the bedside table, grabbing the ties. I’m not gonna lie, we haven’t ever used them- I don’t know Tom’s life, but I do know these are new. He bought them after I joked around about them, I was drunk. I didn’t ever expect him to remember, but I guess he needed to buy lube so I couldn’t blame him, it was on the way. He also came home with a choker and a gag, along with some stupid schoolgirl outfit that I told him I'd probably never wear.  
But right now, I feel like a filthy whore.  
“You know, I knew you were joking about the ties.” Tom said as he grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head and tying them. “But I thought, you know, why the hell not? Marky does love it when I make him my slave. Don’t you?” He winked at me, then slid my pants and underwear completely down.  
I also knew that I had to answer that. “Of course…” I didn’t know what else to say, I stopped thinking. Fuck, I just want to be touched, I want Tom to do something to me. Anything. I didn’t want to beg, however. Do I have a choice?  
“What do you want, Marky?” Tom crawled back to my face, kissing my neck softly. Nothing ever enough to leave a hickey. The only time that ever happened, Travis noticed it, and Tom had to come up with some story of how I got laid by some random girl. Then, to make it realistic, he had to tease me about it later.  
I snickered, “Oh, I get a choice?”  
“Partially,” Tom whispered as he bit at my ear, knowing everything about that drives me crazy. “Of course, I’m the one controlling you.”  
“But don’t I get everything I ever want in the end, Tommy?” I said with a quick moan, as Tom started stroking my dick. Fuck, as much as I’ve had sex with him this whole time we’ve been in prison (paradise), I love it when he jerks me off. I always have. I love it when he gives me blowjobs, too, because who doesn’t love a blowjob, but there’s something about having his huge strong hand on my dick that just.. ugh.  
“Maybe. You love it when I jerk you off, don't you?”  
“Yes,” I whimpered, “Please, faster Tommy..”  
He moved quicker, but not without more words. “Come on, I don’t want you to come too quickly now, Marky. Do you think I’m not going to have any fun?” I moved my body a little and saw him opening a bottle of lube, and as odd as it sounds, I don’t remember the last time he fucked me like this.  
“Oh fuck. Please.” I called out for him, and I wondered how sexy I looked to him right now. Hands tied over my head, legs wide apart for him. Funny thing was though, we both had our shirts on. Not that I cared- “T-Tommm…” He slipped a finger into me, the lube being cold and his finger being warm. I needed more. “More..”  
“You’re needy,” he remarked, moving his finger around slightly. “You also need to relax more. Are you scared babe?”  
“No..” I spoke to him softly and honestly, “You know I’m just not used to this.”  
“Right.” He said, kissing my forehead. “I love you,” he said as he slipped another finger in with a smirk. There it was, I was helpless, getting fingerfucked with no hands and being told about love. Tom DeLonge is a piece of art.  
“I love you too..” I gasped for air, and stole a kiss from him. The horrible chapstick wasn’t on his lips anymore, and I was thankful. He kept kissing me, and I was almost still. The only thing I could do was put my tongue against his, but we both knew I wouldn’t win. I’m the one tied up, I’m the one moaning because of two fingers. There were no odds in my favor whatsoever, but I still had to try, because he knows I don’t give up easily. So I fought him, but when he licked my bottom lip then bit it hard enough to draw blood, it was over.  
“Fucking.. fuck Tom. Fuck me.” I moaned in his ear, I can’t believe I got so broken as to beg.  
Tom kissed my forehead again- “Are you ready?”  
“Yes. Please.” Then Tom moved slightly, preparing himself. He rubbed some lube on his dick (for too long, I could tell he was jerking himself off without me, which I was jealous of) and then got near my entrance and then slowly slid it in. “Fuuuuck.” I totally forgot what Tom felt like inside of me, but it was so blissful that I could stay here forever if he wanted to. I caught a glispse of his face, and he was concentrating so hard, biting at his lip ring as he rolled his hips slowly. “Kiss me, Tom.”  
And he did, he kissed me softly, one of his hands softly caressing through my hair, almost guiding my head to where he wanted it. He was kissing me so slow and moving so slow and perfect that I almost forgot I was supposed to be punished, but I also knew he definitely wasn’t done with that. It's whatever, though, because fuck, everything is going so well right now.  
Tom stopped the kiss and put his hands on the sides of my shoulders, looking down at me. We locked eyes every moment, with every move he made. He was mostly the one moving- if I moved too much, he’d hiss at me. And he was biting his lip ring and his cheeks were so red and oh fuck, I'm so in love with him.  
“Faster,” I pleaded, still staring at his beautiful face.  
“Fuck Mark,” Tom gasped at me, finally, his big lips shining down at me like stars. “Say that again.”  
“Faster, Tom. I need you.”  
“Goddammit you are so perfect,” he gasped at me once again, kissing me like he couldn’t get enough of me. It was definitely a mutual feeling. There were a lot of gasps and moans and teeth in those kisses, or one big kiss, I wasn’t sure which. I heard a lot of “Fuck Mark,” “Fuck baby,” and basically just a whole bunch of “fucks.” Him and I were probably the same in that category. I know he got a lot of “Fuck me, fuck me harder, faster, fuck.”  
“Marky, I'm about to come.” He whispered in my ear, grazing over it with his teeth.  
“Let me first okay?” I asked, which it wasn’t a well formed question, but I knew he’d touch my dick and pound me at about the same speed, and that was all I needed.  
“Fuck… Fuck Tom, keep it up,” I begged at him, once again realizing how helpless I am. Within a couple minutes of that I came all over my shirt, and then not long after that I heard Tom hiss a sharp “Ah, fuck.” and come inside of me.  
“I love you.” I told him as he kissed my forehead softly again.  
“I love you as well.”  
“I’m going to get alcohol.” Tom said, suddenly sprinting his way off of me, putting on some pajama pants and changing his shirt. He put on yet another Atticus shirt- sometimes I questioned if he owned anything but.  
“What?” I asked, sitting up with little help from my hands. I was still tied up, and now, I’m very confused.  
“I just thought it would be a good idea,” he shrugged, grabbing the keys from the table and then adjusting his shoes. “We both love alcohol, so where’s the harm?”  
“Tom-” I started, moving both of my hands to scratch at my head. “You drink quite a lot, it wasn’t too long ago that we got a whole bottle for the two of us. Don’t you think it’s time to-”  
“Time to what, sober up?” He laughed and started making his way to the door. “I’m not unsober. You’re just paranoid Marky.”  
“Maybe, but Tom-” The brunette was already almost out the door, “Are you leaving me tied?”  
“You do need punished. Untie yourself if you can.”  
“Tom, what the fuck-” and he was out the door. What the fucking fuck. Punished? That asshole. Fuck what is he going to do, what’s wrong with him. Leaving me tied up to get alcohol? The Speedway was about 7 minutes away, so he’d be back in about 20. God, am I going to have to punch him? I don’t want to fight him. I love Tom. I’m tired of fighting him and bitching at him.  
But damn.  
I sat there for 5 minutes, almost bathing myself in anger, and then got the ties undone. That wasn’t exactly easy, considering he decided to double knot them, but eventually my wrists were free. Did he plan on leaving me tied when he grabbed my wrists? That’s not a good thought. So probably not, because he wasn’t actually mad at me. Why would he leave me tied up, then?  
I texted Skye and told her I missed her and Jack. I texted her for a good amount of time, sending her funny pictures Tom and I have taken over this time, since I didn’t get an opportunity to before. I also didn’t realize how odd some of them looked.. and how in so many of them, we were doing coupley things. I felt bad. I didn’t send her those, obviously, but how will I, if ever, tell her I've had an affair with Tom DeLonge of all people?  
I looked down at my phone and realized Tom’s been gone for 40 minutes. That’s definitely too long, even if he went to the closest liquor store. I decided to call him.  
“Tommy?”  
“Yeah, I’m on my way back to your favorite colored motel.” He isn’t wrong, pink is my favorite color. Why is he dismissing me?  
“I was just worried about you..” I said, even though a big part of me was really fucking angry.  
“I know Marky. You’re always worried..”  
“I know. I love you.”  
“I love you too.” He hung up on me, and then in about 2 minutes he was in the door. I was sitting on the chair with my leg shaking, and I didn’t really get to see an image of him before he sprinted to the bathroom. I heard a heave, and I ran to the door.  
“Tom, what the fuck?” I mumbled, hoping he didn’t hear it, getting on my knees and rubbing his back softly. Hell, he’s puking, so attractive, but why is he puking? What’d he do?  
“Just.. Tom, calm down.. please baby..” I tried my best to comfort him as he started heaving again, still rubbing his back.  
“I fucked up Mark,” he grunted as he turned over, then with a big sigh. “I fucked up.”  
“I know.” I said as I got up and got a wet rag to put on his head, wringing it out as he spoke again.  
“No, Mark. I’m an alcoholic. And a pillhead,” his demeanor changed from sick to depressing, watching me as I put the rag on his head. “I’ll get up in the middle of the night, pop up a few pills, then write or something, then go to bed before you notice it. I’m destroying myself and this damn band.”  
“I-- what?” I mumbled, flushing the toilet. I grabbed another look at him, then walked out of the bathroom. He looked pathetic. Pathetically honest. Fuck, is this real? Fuck fuck fuck. I ran out to the car and saw the rather large vodka bottle in the driver's seat, half empty, and I threw it in the lot.  
The glass broke on the blacktop, and it sounded like how I imagined my heart would sound like. Fuck, my lover’s an alcoholic. A junkie. How did he get this way?  
“Tom, what the fuck? Tom what the fuck!”  
He was standing in the doorway now, a far distance from me, fully illuminated by the lights behind him. “I’m sorry, Mark. I knew this was a bad idea, I knew you’d find out. I knew you’d be disappointed..”  
“I’m so much more than fucking disappointed, Tom. I told you weeks ago you should stop drinking and you called me paranoid, just like you did earlier. I could have stopped you!”  
“Mark,” he started walking towards me, “There’s so much to life that you can’t control. You’ve never understood that. You want to take control of everything, and it never matters if it’s even good, it just matters if it’s yours-”  
“Shut up! You’re still fucked up,” I growled at him, my hands in fists. How dare he do this.  
I need to stop being angry. I need to-  
“Tom, holy fuck, if you take one more step near me I will pound your face the way you don’t want. Go back inside.” Tommy absolutely knew I wasn’t lying. I don’t remember the last time I was this damn emotional about something, let alone just angry. I need to calm down. I need to talk to him. Damn, how did it get this way, how was I so oblivious to it all? It’s starting to make sense now, all of the rendezvous in the bathroom, all of the grocery trips, his dismissive behavior..  
He stuck his hands up in surrender and went back inside the room, and I sat outside and tried to keep my cool. It isn't his fault he got hooked on drugs, right? It's not his fault we can't collaborate. Nothing is his fault.  
Nothing’s mine, either. That’s how it works, it's either even or it doesn’t exist.  
It’s not my fault.  
It’s not his fault.  
I walked back into Room 93.  
“Tom, I’m sorry.” I said with a crack in my voice, as he was sitting on the bed looking at me. He still looked out of it- his eyes followed my movements too slow, his lip ring biting was slow, but I could tell he definitely sobered up from the few seconds before he puked.  
“Mark, it's okay babe. You’re caring about me.” He pulled me into a hug as I rested my head on his shoulder, biting my lip.  
“Why’d you leave me tied up?” I asked, looking up at him.  
“I just wanted to fuck with you, but on the way to the store I realized how.. well thought out it was.” Tom said as he averted his gaze from mine, looking at the ceiling. “I mean, you wouldn’t untie yourself for a minute, and you wouldn't worry about me for a good 20 minutes.. it let me get fucked up and drive home. I didn’t know if you’d call at all. I don’t know. I’m not Tom anymore when I think about alcohol or pills, you know? I just chase something I can’t reach, but I still try, because trying is better than nothing. You couldn’t have stopped me from being this way. Every time I go out and get alcohol, I do this. I just took it too far and felt sick. I don't know,” he was crying by now, but he still wasn’t looking at me, just at our makeshift sky on the ceiling. “I didn’t want you to worry, Mark. I knew you couldn’t change anything. I was already this way. I don't know.”  
“It's okay Tom. It's going to be okay.” I tried to reassure him again, but all that happened was tears coming out of my eyes. And when I break, Tom DeLonge does too, and it's always a mess. I wrapped my arms around him like a child and sobbed, my body letting out whale-like sounds. Tom didn't fall short, and he raked his hands through my hair and bawled slightly quieter than I was.  
“I love you,”  
“I love you,”  
“I love you,”  
“I love you,”  
I don't know how long him and I kept it up, I don't know if it was a call-and-answer type deal. The only thing I comprehended was that Tom, the Tom DeLonge I fell in love with, was here in my arms, even if he wasn’t a perfect angel anymore. Even if he was a ghost.  
“Everything will be alright in the end, Tommy,” I finally stammered, leaning up to kiss him on his chin.  
“And if it's not alright, it's not the end.” He responded back to me, kissing my forehead.  
“We should sleep,” I say, already tugging him near me to cuddle with me. He kinda smells like vomit, but, oh well. That’s mine, that’s my Tom regardless of if he’s out of whack or not.  
“Okay baby.” He crawls up to me, but tonight we aren’t spooning. He’s got his arms wrapped around me and he’s facing me.. he falls asleep quickly, and as I'm analyzing his face, I'm thinking of my plan.  
No more alcohol. Wean him off the pills. Make him smoke pot instead as an outlet instead of alcohol and pills, then no more of anything. Easier said than done, true, but I have to do something, I can't stand watching him destroy himself.  
Maybe he’s right, maybe I do take control over too much.  
But he doesn’t get a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> Sex Pistols, a british punk band, Ramones, an american punk band.  
> Blur, a britpop band, Oasis, another britpop band.  
> Basically both of those bands fought.  
> Box Car Racer, Tom's band, I'm not going to put it in references anymore lol  
> Sum 41, the band that did Fat Lip  
> Bad Religion, a punk band  
> No, It Isn't- did you catch that lame reference?  
> A Separate Peace: "There was no harm in envying your best friend even a little."


	4. Hurricane

TOM POV

Mark has now dedicated every moment of his life on making sure that I’m okay. And as much as I adore him for it, I don’t think he understands that he’s paying even less attention to fixing blink. For the past couple weeks he’s been monitoring my intake- he even bought a drug test kit that I have to do every so often. It’s almost tiring, because even though we’re both trying, I'm still not getting pleased. I'm starting to think it's about more than drugs, that it's about the band and Marky and Jen. It's been about 2 weeks, and every morning I wake up (before Mark, which is most days) I feel so absolutely drained, like I'm living a life that isn't mine. And I tried to not show him the side of me hooked on drugs, but it was so absolutely difficult. I wouldn’t talk for hours at a time so I wouldn’t say something strange- but my thoughts were vivid of strange things. I imagined tigers in trees and flying octopi. And I've said weird shit to Jen, and she was worried about me. But for some reason, Mark is absolutely on my ass as much as he’s in my ass.  
And I really try my best to not go behind his back and do random pills in the bathroom, but I'll admit, I have some hidden. But I don't think he’ll find them and he isn't good at making me quit cold turkey. He’d know that's too hypocritical. He still is smoking cancer sticks at any given opportunity- and a lot more, now that he’s stressed the fuck out. I feel bad for him, I really do. I didn't ask to be a nutcase, or his nutcase, but he wants to put the whole world on his shoulders. But let's go back before I knew he was like that.

1992, the year we started offending mothers (officially):  
It was late, probably around 1 AM, and I got a call that startled me in the middle of my nightly jerk off. That, and corded telephones are loud as hell. I probably would have been startled anyway. But, in all honesty, I answered the phone and still continued without checking who it was, because I honestly am that type of person.  
“Dude, come over.” It was Mark. Honestly, what the fuck? I get that Mark is clingy and also my best friend, but as long as we’ve been friends he’s never called me at 1 in the morning for anything.  
“Why?” I stifled a moan at the end of that, hoping that the blonde had no idea I was jerking off to his voice. I don’t even think Mark knows that I’m a bisexual.. or a bisexual with a small thing for him. I can’t help it, though- I try to. I try not to look at him too much during band practice or touch him too much, because I don’t want to be obvious, but how much more awkward would it be if he didn’t like me back. He’s my everything.  
“I just wanted someone to watch _Sailor Moon_ with me..”  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I laughed into the phone, probably blushing at that thought. “Okay fine, I’ll be there in a few. I gotta take care of something first.”  
“No, come now, Tommy. What the fuck could you be doing at 1 AM that’s more important than me?” I stayed silent, because I knew I couldn’t come up with some bullshit excuse. And then I realized that the silence lasted too long, I stammered an “Uh,” but Mark cut me off. “Damn, you're a sick bastard Tom DeLonge!”  
“Hey now,” I said, still feeling myself up, “At least you didn’t know until… 6 minutes into the phone call. I could have answered and gone, “Hey Mark. I’m jerking off. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done.””  
“I would have preferred that!” He slightly screeched into the phone, but I did hear a chuckle. I don’t know if it was a chuckle of trying to relieve the situation, or because he actually thought it was funny.  
“Actually, I don’t think you would have.” I snickered at him.  
“Don’t flatter yourself.”  
I chuckled at him, “Don’t ya think it’s a bit too late for that, Marky?” This time, he stayed silent, and I was debating having him hang up on me or me fuck him up emotionally. Now, knowing how life works, I definitely could and should have said, “So you gonna hang up on me sometime, dumpweed?” but instead I just moaned into the phone. I think the funniest part about it was he probably thought I was faking the moans, but I absolutely wasn’t. They were pure moans coming from my mouth, and I’m honestly not a person of torture, but it was so arousing to me. To know he was just sitting there hearing me moan.. I wonder if he thought I was thinking of him.  
“Mark,” I moaned, “Are you ever going to.. hang up the phone?”  
“I wasn’t planning on it. Do you think someday you can moan like this for a song?” What the fuck is wrong with Mark Hoppus.  
“Sure, but you act like I’m faking these moans.”  
“Fuck you are one disgusting skateboarder.” He said in a very monotone voice that made me smile with pleasure.  
“Yeah,” I mused with a slight sigh escaping my lips. “But seriously, you might want to hang up, I’m going to come soon.”  
“No, I’m fine.” I-- okay, Mark, whatever you wish. Might as well make it worse while I’m at it.  
“I-- Marky, oh fuck..” I start, my voice getting higher than it already is, “Fuck, Mark..”  
“Is it normal for dudes to jerk off to their best friend on the phone?”  
“God, Mark, shut the fuck up..”  
“Sorry, not getting you off? Maybe I should next time.” Next time? Fuck… What if Mark wasn’t as disgusted by this as he should be? What if he were here right now, sucking me off..  
“Fuck, Marky..” I moaned a little bit more, biting my lip. “I came.”  
“Okay, awesome. Come watch anime with me dude.”

I went to his house that night and I argued with him, saying that I’d rather watch anything other than Sailor Moon, but somehow he convinced me to anyway. We also kind of.. cuddled? That was the night where I realized my feelings for Mark were all but too real, but he seemed to not have a care in the world about anything. He’s such a kind soul, someone so happy, never paranoid about anything. It’s kinda sweet. We laid on his bed and I had him in my arms, protecting him, and I realized that he’s always going to be my home. My everything, perhaps. Mark fell asleep first, and he looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping. I love it so much.

  
And then there was one time at a Poway football game that two random girls spat at us.  
We were already dating at the time, but it was very fresh, and him and I were walking down to the concession stand and some girl and her bitchy friend started laughing at us. Mark turned around and went, “What’s up, ladies?”  
She was very blonde, and her friend was a redhead. The blonde was so much taller than the ginger, and they both looked like they only fucked skateboarders and listen to “grungy” bands like Nirvana. (Even though, they probably didn’t.)  
“These two dumpweeds think they’re going to be famous,” the blonde said with a chuckle. “And, the tall one, Tommy, was kicked out of here not too long ago.”  
“Ooooh, those people.” The ginger eyed me down harshly, but I stood there drinking my large drink. “What talent do you two losers have, anyway?”  
I looked over at Mark, and I could tell he was upset. Now wasn’t the time to tell him to ignore their mean comments, and I knew he wanted to say something, so I let him. I just wish I could remember one of these girls for something. I don’t know either of their names at all, but the blonde looked more familiar than the ginger.  
“Actually, Tom is the best guitarist I know. He’s really great at singing, too. Maybe if you came to our next show, you’d find out.” I could tell he was really pleased with himself. His ego also grew a little bit from not calling either of them a bitch.  
“That’s cool. Ya know, I think we’re just gonna have to leave.”  
“Where ya going, the street corner?” I snickered at them, crossing my arms with my drink in my hand, “Seems like both of you could get business there. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to steal your clothes from the Hot Topic garbage can.”  
They both rolled their eyes and walked away, and Mark turned and looked upset with me. “Why’d you say that, Tom? I was trying to be decent to them.”  
I smiled, “You can be decent all you want,” I feel like there was an inaudible ‘baby’ in there, or at least, I hoped, “But I don’t have to be. They don’t expect me to be.”  
“Yeah, but now they won’t think I can stand up for us..”  
“Mark, who cares? They won't remember us in 10 years, and if they do, it’s because they’re gonna regret shittalking the world’s greatest punk band. Alright?” I wanted to hug him, but I didn’t, because we were still out in public.  
“Okay Tom. But can we go home, I don’t care about this football game anymore.” He scratched at the back of his neck, his nervous gesture, and I nodded softly.  
“Of course. Let’s get some food too.” I suggested, and we walked out of the game and then when we were a far enough distance away from the school, Mark opened up about the situation. I could tell that he was still upset, so it didn't surprise me.  
“I don’t understand what’s wrong with trying to kill them passively,” he shrugged, focusing on the road.  
“Because I’m a highschooler, baby. There is no kindness there, it’s hell.” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But it’s okay Marky, I swear. Do you believe me?”  
“Don’t I always?” He chuckled, “Okay, your place or mine?”  
“Yours. Let’s watch more anime or listen to music or something.” I say, then add on: “Actually, let’s just listen to music. Did I ever show you that Dead Boys CD I got last week at that shitty music store?”  
“No, you didn't.” Mark mumbled as he started driving the way to my house so I can run in and get it, “I have no idea who they are.”  
“They’re an old punk band, Marky.” I mused slightly, knowing I’m totally going to suck his dick to sexual punk music. What else could I want?  
“I’m down.”  
“I know you are.” I chuckled with him.

Then there was an issue with Wasting Time-  
“Okay, but I want to sing in this one.” Mark came at me, as if he didn’t write the song.  
“You’re right, don’t wanna waste my time.” That was a perfect pun, and although he laughed, he was pissy at me. I don’t know why. We haven’t hung out in a couple days, so that could be it.

And then there were a lot of, “less guitar, Tom.” “Turn it down, Tom.” Which, it all was casual band banter. Eventually it started to bother me, but it wasn’t ever too bad. Not until Take Off Your Pants and Jacket took off, but that’s way ahead of me.

There was one time during the Poopoo Peepee tour with Dude Ranch that an old high school friend wanted to hang out with me. I don’t know why he kept my personal email all of these years, but he did. His name was Rob, and he was my best friend at Rancho. He emailed me one day and told me he was in San Diego, and that he saw the show and thought it was pretty fucking awesome that I was famous. He asked if he could see me, and I said sure, since we were gonna be stationed for a few days.  
I told Mark about it, and he remembered him. Truth be told, Rob was the reason I found out about my sexuality. When I was at Rancho he was my absolute best friend and he definitely helped define who I am with music and all of that junk. I just kinda realized I was falling for him, and one night I told him while we were smoking a joint in his car. He told me that he didn’t like me that way, but it wasn’t going to be anything he ever told anyone. And that night we had a deep conversation about who we were and how confused about life we were- I don’t remember if I was 16 or 17, but I was just all kinds of confused. All I had was a guitar, a skateboard, and a bowl. Probably not much different from other teenage dudes, but I still felt like an outcast. Rob just helped me not feel that way. Sometimes we’d just have long conversations about nothing. It took no time for me to like him. And Mark was around when I came back to Poway, and he didn’t like him at 17. Which was understandable, but Rob was also super straight.  
I made sure Travis wasn’t around really quick. “Hey, Marky,” I said as I crawled onto his lap as he was reading some book, “Can I hang out with a friend?”  
“What? Who?” His blue eyes lit up as he set the book down and put his hands through my hair. I could tell he was concerned, because we almost never see friends when we’re on tour, because we never know anybody. But San Diego was different, and he knew that too. It was typical for high schoolers to move there.  
“You’re not going to like who it is babe,” I mused slightly as I kissed his forehead, “But it’s someone I really wanna see. I haven’t hung out with him since high school.”  
“Seriously,” Mark said in a monotone voice, so I could tell he was getting pissy, “Who is it?”  
“Rob.” I slightly spat the one syllable, because I felt like he was going to yell at me.  
I was right.  
“Tom, what the fuck?” He pushed me off of him slightly as he stood up and walked into the other room on the bus, “What the fuck? You’re leaving me to see the guy you got your first hard-on for?”  
“Mark, he’s a good guy. Please calm down babe.” I looked at him with what I imagined were doe eyes, and he took in a big breath and then focused on his breathing. “He means a lot to me, you know? And, I love you above everything. I’m not randomly ditching you to see him, a straight dude. I asked you Marky.”  
“You’re right. But damn am I mad at you, Tommy.” Mark walked over to me and gave me a big hug, one where he started crying in my arms. He just started bawling, and I felt horrible because he was crying, but not because he was being a pissbaby. I ran my fingers through his hair and started mumbling things that I loved about him.  
“I love the way you always come to my arms even when you’re mad at me. I love the way you cry when you get above your head. I love the way you hold me. I love the way you’ve always felt like home. I love the night that we stayed up and got stoned and watched anime. I love the way that you’re my everything. I love how emotional you are even though you know I’m not leaving.”  
“I love you too Tommy.” He looked up at me, his beautiful blue eyes slightly pink and watery. “Truly. Above everything.”  
“Stop, you’re so fucking gay.” I joked at him as I took his face in my arms and kissed him softly. “My favorite gaywad.”

I saw Rob the next day- we met at a coffee shop, and then ended up at his place. He doesn’t look much different than he did, spiked red hair with too tight of a shirt and black pants. He really was the same person I was best friends with back in highschool- a dirty punk. I’m not sure I’m considered a “dirty punk” like I was. Just a punk now, if that. (You know.. I moaned into the mic. Maybe I am a dirty punk.)  
We bullshitted about nothing. He told me what the concert was like, which was awesome, because I always love it when fans talk about concerts. I truly believed it when he said he wasn’t kissing up to me, either, because he never did. And then we started talking about music, and how totally in love we were with Gwen Stefani, and how much punk music has changed over the years. He was amazed how much blink has changed me.  
And then for some reason, I told him that Mark and I were lovers. His thick brown eyebrows came together, where Johnny Rotten’s hair met Liam Gallagher’s monobrow, and then he just seemed fine.  
“So, it’s a secret?” I nodded.  
“Yeah, it is. I told you because I didn’t figure you’d care. Not even Scott knows. It’s just something we try to conceal. I don’t know why we do, but we’re more comfortable that way. Kinda makes us feel like we’re in high school again, too, with all of those stolen kisses around dark corners and shit. Now I’m just bugging at ya.”  
“No, it really makes sense. I just never thought you’d find someone so.. perfect.. for you,” he shrugged as he opened up another grape soda.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Like, someone so important to you that will always be there in your life. I remember when you called me up and told me blink finally had their first gig, you know? I always thought you had a thing for him, in just the way you looked at him. You looked at me the same way.”  
I looked down at my hands, because everything Rob was saying made perfect sense. “I guess so. He's my rock and my best friend. I remember the night he told me he liked me. Well, more or less made me tell him. We were getting stoned in the woods, and a lot of awkward stuff lead up to it that I won't go into, but he handed me the bowl and went, “Hit this if you have a crush on me.” And, so, knowing me, I did. And then I handed it back to him and said the same thing. He stayed still for a minute, and he waited until I got emotional and went, “Tommy, I can’t do this. You didn’t say “Hit this if you’re in love with me.”” Annnnnd I cried and shit. It was crazy stupid, but that’s me and Mark. My partner in crime.”  
“Fuck that is so cute. I’m honestly so happy for you two.”  
“Thank you. It really means a lot.” I smiled at him and felt the inside of my chest light up. That happens a lot around Marky still, but whenever it happens and not because of Mark it makes me very happy. Moments like these are worth living for.  
“So, how does buttsex work? And you think I'm joking, but I’m not.”  
“Well, it’s worth all of the preparation.” I chuckled, “But it isn’t always perfect.”  
“Sex isn’t perfect.”  
“Very good point.”

That night when I came home, I didn't tell Mark I told him. I didn't know what he’d think, and I could tell that he was upset about it. He told me he wasn’t, but he likes to hold out his anger and all other emotions until they spill like milk. And, they spilled like milk one night. Rotten milk, mostly.  
Not much time had passed, and him and I just decided to go to a bar. Which, this is a rare thing, because Mark is more of an at-home drinker, which also means he’s an at-home drunk. For whatever reason, he didn't want to be that tonight. We were at some neon bar, and god, he was so smashed. I don't remember the last time he was acting like this. He also bought different alcohol than usual, and he just kept pounding every bit of it down. I told him he needed to go slower but he just didn't listen to me.  
I'm worried about him at this point. He’s acting like a loon, but also really rude and pissy. I finally pull him off of the dance floor and out of the bar, and I ask him what’s wrong.  
“Mark, babe, are you okay?” I ask, wrapping him in my arms. It was dark outside, and we were in a moist alley. It's almost like a horror movie scene.  
“It doesn’t matter, does it? Has it at all?” Mark spat at me, limp in my arms. He hasn’t made an effort to hug me back, but he’s still in my arms. I'm not going to let him go.  
“What are you even talking about, Marky?” I asked, looking at his face. “You mean the world to me, you know that? You're my everything.”  
“You hung out with Rob and you didn't really ever tell me what happened. I guess I never asked, but I'm sure you know me well enough to know I'm curious regardless, Tommy. And I'm over emotional and a control freak and I get it, but god, did anything happen?”  
“If you're insinuating I bent him over and fucked him even half as good as I fuck you, you're crazy, and drunk,” I scored a laugh out of him, his haziness taking over his body. This isn't the time to tell him I told Rob about him and I being lovers, but I also know I'm not leaving without doing so. It's going to hurt Mark so much, but I just wanted to tell someone who knew us, who understood-  
“Tom, did you tell him about us?”  
The question sprung me out of the blue, and I felt horrible. It felt like Mark punched me in the gut. Fuck, love is all so complicated, but it's all worth it for Mark, and it always will be for him.. Even if it means him disliking me for a moment or two.  
“Yes.”  
Then, Mark did punch me in the gut.  
“Seriously, Tom, what the fuck? Why do I feel like I've known this whole time you told him?!”  
I coughed a bit, still feeling pain in my stomach. I don't want to hurt him, and he walked away from me in the other direction as he spoke. When I finally caught my breath, I spoke to him.  
“Because you and I both know I trust him. Mark, he was the first guy I loved, but that all doesn’t matter now. He’s a great dude and he’ll hold it secret. Does it even matter? I'm so in love with you, and I have been since the day Anne introduced us.”  
“Shut up, Tom. You're buttering me up as if I'm not fucking pissed off at you,” he grunted, crossing his arms. “You know nobody is supposed to know, why has it changed now?”  
“Opportunity and a nice mixed drink,” I smirked at him, knowing he wouldn’t find it funny at all. I found it funny, so that’s what matters. “Nothing’s going to happen, Marky.”  
“Fuck, Tom-” He ran his hand through his hair and then crossed the arm again, “What if it does?”  
“So? I'm in love with you. The world can know, I don't care at this point. You're my world.” I don't know if I said this because it was true, or because I had a few drinks in me. I hoped it was true, but as much as I wished for that, I really wish Rob never spoke a word of it.  
“Okay, Tom.”  
“Are you good now, babe?” I asked, making my way over to him. The closer I got, the more I noticed the tears streaking his face, and how his eyes almost glowed in the moonlight. He was a perfect mess. I didn't mean to do that to him, though.. I just wanted someone to know, and Rob was always a piggy bank for my thoughts. If I ever gave him a penny, he gave me a dollar. Mark doesn’t understand that.  
“No. But I want you to hold me,” the pissbaby strikes again, except he’s showing his baby side. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his forehead. Then, I held his face and wiped the tears off of it slowly.  
“I love you above everything, Mark Hoppus.”  
He chuckled slightly, licking his lips. “And I love you the same, Thomas DeLonge. Are you going to kiss me now?”  
I bit my lip ring, sliding my hands down to the belt loops on his shorts. “Well, do you want me to? I can't do it once we get back to the tour bus-”  
He wrapped his arms around my neck and kissed me before I finished my sentence. Mark’s lips tasted like fruity alcohol, but I couldn’t say I minded. I'm sure mine did too. However, everything about Mark intoxicated me more than any alcohol in my body. I’ll admit, I still feel bad knowing I hurt Mark enough to have him punch me, but he’ll understand someday. Or, he won't, but that can't change the past- I didn't do anything wrong. I was just gossiping.  
“I love you.”  
“I love you too Hot Pants.”  
“Are you less angry?” I asked, stealing a kiss from him softly. I wasn’t trying to get him to lie with the kiss, but I knew he’d be more kind because of it even if he was still angry.  
“Yes. Are we staying for another drink?” He winked at me.  
“Just one, babe. Then we go back to the bus and act like this never happened, alright?”  
“Okay. I'm sorry I punched you.” He snuck his hand in my shirt, touching my stomach. I don't know if he was trying to seduce me or not with a soft touch, but it was working. Whenever Mark seduces me, he gets whatever he wants. It's almost sad, but I work my way around it so it's even. Tonight will finish well as long as he doesn’t convince me to stay for more. I'm supposed to drive us home.  
“It's okay babe, you were frustrated.” I wanted to add, “You need to be more careful though, you always seem to take it out on me.” But I didn't, because he’d get upset and feel shitty, and I've already made him feel shitty tonight. It's a discussion for later.

I told him that later, but it didn't go well. It took years for me to say, because after Rob, we started to compromise a lot more. We had a lot more discussions, a lot more agreements, there wasn’t anything bad about us. We were practically invincible, up until Take Off Your Pants and Jacket rocketed.  
We started getting rocky around there, and we fought more.  
“Mark, you don't let me get a say on anything, and then you get frustrated and take it out on me. Take a fucking chill pill.” I spat at him, sitting down on a bean bag where he was standing over me. I was watching his face- pink from anger, but never angry enough to say something he’d regret.  
“Fuck off, Tom.” He put his hands on his hips like a girl. “You're the one that doesn’t want to participate.”  
“Whatever, Hoppus.”  
“Guys.” Travis butted in, softly setting an arm on Mark’s shoulder to get his attention. “Mark, just chill and let Tom speak his mind. You never know if it's something you want to hear-”  
“Yes, I do, and I don't want to hear it. He’s gonna tell me I should stop being a control freak.”  
“What the fuck? No, I'm not saying that, Mark.” I hated that he put words into my mouth, words that he and I both knew were true. Travis didn't know.  
“Sure,” Mark scoffed at me, kicking at my beanbag. “That’s the message I've been getting.”  
“Mark.” I shoot a glare at him, a glare that even makes Travis back up. Mark, stop acting like this. Stop throwing a piss fit. Stop. I can fix this. Stop. But I couldn’t fix it. We’d both just cry to our wives then pick it back up the next day just to throw it back down.  
Mark’s facial expression chilled and he licked his lip. “I'm going to go outside.” He made his way outside where Travis and I were alone, with me still sitting on the beanbag. Travis sighed.  
“Why is Mark like this, Tom?” He asked me, taking off his wifebeater. I glanced at his Can I Say tattoo, I always really liked it for some reason, even though I had no idea what it meant at all.  
“You're asking me.” I grunted, lifting my way off the chair. “He’s just very… Particular about what he wants.”  
“Yeah, I knew that the moment I met him.”  
I looked to my left and drifted a second. It's weird to think that the moment Travis met Mark, he knew he was a control freak, but the moment I met Mark I fell in love. I didn't do that with Jen, either. And now, Mark isn't mine to hold anymore. When Skye came, he broke it all off and decided it would just be better to have her at night. I can't tell if she’s made him angry or not, but now all Mark does is bitch at me and refuse to compromise. I shouldn’t love him the way I do, considering I have my own Skye, Jen, but I just can't help being in love with him.  
Whenever he gets like this, I'm a mess. A violent mess, a horrible mess, someone not good, someone with fucked intentions.

“Tom?” Mark shook me as he woke me up. “It's almost 6, you’ve been asleep for two hours. Are you okay babe?”  
I pulled him into my arms, him falling down with a giggle. I love it when he giggles, almost like he’s not 30 and he’s 19 again. “I'm great now that you're in my arms.”  
“I'm in your arms every night.”  
“I know.” I kissed his neck, then I left soft kisses to his lips and all over his face. He was smiling super wide, and I felt so happy. “I love you.”  
He rolled to his side, propping his head up with his arm. “What happened to you in that nap?”  
“I was just thinking about you.” I smirked at him, mimicking his pose. “Remembering all those times when you kissed me when I was 17, remembering every time you were mine in a stolen moment in your old bedroom and in your car and in alleys.”  
He chuckled. “I will say, I've been shitty-”  
“Shh, it's okay.” I cut him off. “It doesn’t matter, I need you.”  
“Yeah, how so?” Mark teased at me, as if I wasn’t going to give a brutally honest answer.  
“So I don't fucking OD on pills and kill myself.” He looked horrified, and I knew he would. “I mean, because you're my lover.”  
“Tom, you're a fucking mess. One moment you tell me you love me and the next you're gambling death. You still fucking have those pills around, don't you?”  
I wasn’t going to answer him, but I did stare into his ocean eyes and challenge him. He knew it was a yes, but he also knew if he moved I'd probably pin him down. He knew I couldn’t function without them.  
“Tom.”  
“Mark.” I grunted, biting at my lip ring nervously.  
“Tell me where they are.”  
“No.”  
“Fine. But you're not drinking any more.” He got up and moved to the bathroom, and I let him. And then I heard the toilet flush, and my heart dropped almost. He flushed the rest in the bottle, and now all I have are the couple I have stored around. Which, might be enough, but it's going to be troubling, I'm gonna be in pain. And he knows it, too, and I just- goddammit, I hate him sometimes. I made this hurricane for myself though, didn't I?  
He walked out of the bathroom. “I did that because I love you.”  
“I know, Mark.” I sighed, sitting up. “I love you too.” I need him to save me though, don’t I? Jen won't, she won't know. And I'm going crazy and Mark knows it, he knows me all too well, he needs to put out whatever fire I'm creating for myself. He needs to be in control. And for once, I have to pick apart pieces of what I want. I won't have it all, but I will have some. I'll  
have enough to be happy.  
“I love you above everything Mark.” I said again as he climbed into bed, wrapping his arms around me. “Thank you.”  
“I love you too, Tommy, you don't need to thank me.” I don't need to thank you because you’ll always be there for me. But will I always be there for you?  
I can't think like this. Of course I will. I'm just going crazy from the pills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> Dead Boys, an old sexual punk band  
> Gwen Stefani, singer of No Doubt who later went on tour with Blink  
> Johnny Rotten, ginger singer of the punk band the Sex Pistols  
> Liam Gallagher, the better Gallagher of Oasis (fight me if you're a Noel fan) (not really tho I love Noel too just less)


	5. Empty Gold

TOM POV

Lately I haven't slept. Lately, nothing was the same. I ended up somehow choking all of the pills down, thanks to Mark flushing them, and for a solid week I had harsh cold shakes, but he was there every moment to hold me, wiping up every tear that came out of my eyes. Mark had told me how much he loved me, how he loved my eyes, how he loved mothering me. And, dressing up for me, apparently, because he ended up wearing that skirt when I asked. Cutting everything out cold turkey like that was so hard, so painful, it was almost like I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t breathe enough. And now that I’m there, I’m living a life that isn’t mine. I thought that before, but now it's worse- everywhere I look, I’m looking at blackness. Nothing is enough now.  
I’ve stayed up countless nights pining for a life that isn’t mine-  
A life that isn’t with blink-  
A life that isn’t punk-  
A life of freedom-  
A life not mine.  
I’d talk to Mark about it, but he’s just going to ask me if I want to leave blink or break it up, and I don’t. Blink-182, with the random 182, has been my life since I could have freedoms and it always will be.  
But I picture another life. I had another life with Trav, Box Car Racer, and although that didn’t go bad, Box Car Racer isn’t what I want. I want it all, and I don’t know if all is more than blink or less than blink.  
I look over at Mark, who’s almost done with that book he's been reading. He told me a summary, but I won’t know the whole book until he rants to me about it. Which, is fine, I love it when Mark gets so passionate about things that it's all one big rant, and I love the way he looks to the left when he can’t think of anything else to say, or when he says stuff out of order, or when he just mumbles to catch himself up.  
I’m just being pathetic and emotional. There’s nothing to my life other than blink and my family, right? I may be Tom DeLonge but I’ll never be The Better Part of Blink Just Got Better or I’ll never be The Rock n Roll God of This Generation and I’ll never be anything other than Tom DeLonge.  
“Fuck, Tommy, I finished this book again.”  
“Yeah? How was it?” I asked, walking over to crawl into his lap like I’ve done a million times. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his head, trying to knock myself out of my disconnection with myself.  
“Better than the first time I read it. I realized there was a lot more with Finny-” Mark started his rant but I couldn’t help but continue thinking of myself, and I’ve been doing it for two weeks and I just need to stop, I need to feel 17 again.

And then the next day was the same, I woke up contemplating life.  
And the next day the same, and the next, and the next, until another week had passed and I was still going crazy. I was a lot more lenient on what Mark wanted when we started playing, and immediately he got happier. I was tired of fighting a war I’d never win, but then I’d play without emotion. Simple melodies rang in my head- nothing I could ever make perfect, nothing ever mine. Mark’s simple bass notes ringing in my ears, him humming along to it, I felt chained. I felt like I was stuck in a motel that was more black than pink, more blue than Mark’s eyes. I was stuck and I’ve never been more stuck and the person I needed help from, I couldn’t get it from. Mark wouldn’t understand why I feel this way. Mark is too carefree, too over absorbed with himself. Most of the time it’s cute, but where’s the line between cute and painful, where’s the line between freedom and punk rock, where’s the line between happiness and sadness? If I asked Mark, he’d make a line and expect me to walk on it like a tightrope.  
Everything was a game to Mark, a game he’s always bound to win. If I was a queen, he was a king.  
That night when Mark fell asleep, I went outside and called Jen. Jen would know, right? My wife, my love, the mother to my child and the child to my heart.  
“Babe?” I said, setting my hand on my neck nervously. I don’t want to worry her, I don't want to bother her- I almost forget to text her every day. Isn’t that sad? Does that reflect on who I’ve become with Mark, or who I’m becoming with myself? Is it wrong to feel this way, curious if I’m bothering my wife, after 2 months of little phone call conversations?  
“Hey love,” she said, “What's up? It’s late, even for a night owl like yourself.”  
“Jen, if I tell you all of this shit, will you not go crazy?” I gnawed at my lip ring really hard. If this one were plastic, I would have without a doubt bit right through it.  
“Of course,” she sounded concerned, “You know, you’ve sang about fucking dogs before, but I still take you seriously.”  
“Thanks babe.” I bit for a second more- I was about to burst. But it’s my wife, my love, so I don’t need to worry the way a 12 year old does before riding his first roller coaster. “I got hooked on the pain meds, started taking them as if they were my only form of sanity, you know? I couldn’t help it.. and one night I told Mark and he flushed them all down, and I had a couple left hidden but I took those too and then I was out cold turkey. That wasn’t that long ago,” she stayed silent. I forgot that her motto was sometimes all people need is a good listener and not HOLY FUCK TOM whenever I say something inane. “There’s so much more. Mark and I still haven’t gotten along musically, almost like the Berlin Wall stood between us, and then after cutting off the pills I just sucked it up and let him push me around like a slave, but I don’t think I can take it anymore Jen-” I choked up a tear, wiping it off quickly. “I don’t think I want to do this anymore.”  
“Do what anymore?”  
Be Mark’s lover.  
Be Mark’s slave.  
Be in a band called blink-182.  
“All of this. All of this bullshit, all of the fighting, all of the punches, all of the music, all of the chains around me. I don’t want to be around Mark anymore, he’s power and money hungry and he doesn’t understand me the way he did when he was 19, when life was better for us, when I wasn’t so desperate for something more than getting high and listening to NOFX all night, when life was simple. When I was young.”  
“Tom?”  
“Yes?”  
“Why leave when you claim it is love, but why stay when you’re not the only one?”  
“Did you just quote Emo?” I laughed.  
“Yes.”  
I stayed silent and thought about it- she isn’t wrong. But why would I leave, what if I am the only one? “Are you saying I should go?”  
“I remember those nights when you’d stay up all night and told me about all of your hopes with Box Car Racer, how you got the name, how you wrote There Is, how you daydreamed about the band when you were with the band.. It hurt Mark a lot, and I’m sure it still hurts Mark, but you were so damn happy, Tom. I met you when you were a happy person, I met the guy who wrote First Date for me, then you turned it all around. I couldn’t tell you how many nights I fell asleep thinking I ruined your happiness despite you telling me I was the main source of it- until you made Box Car Racer. I knew right then that you deserved a lot more than blink, you know? You should do what you want, but what you need to do is leave.”  
“I love you so much, Jennifer.” I sobbed into the phone, sobbed and sobbed, and she sat there the whole time. I was sitting in front of Room 93 with tears in my eyes, and I wanted alcohol more than anything, but I couldn’t leave. Mark had the keys. Eventually, Jen and I had a conversation about what I was going to do, and I just kept mumbling “I don’t know.” Then she brought up family and how Mark was doing, how Skye was doing, how Travis was doing. I told her a lot, but I kept some of it to myself- I could never tell her my lips have ever touched Mark’s, not once, but a million times. A million times had I fallen in love with him, every day I ever spent with him.. but I don’t know if I can anymore. Sometimes holding on hurts more than letting go, right?  
I went to bed that night, Mark laying by my side without a shirt on, staring at our galaxy on the ceiling. For the first time since high school, I remembered that this is what a heartbreak feels like. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it. Sometimes there’s nice breakups and sometimes there’s harsh ones, ones where you constantly fight for the upper hand even months and years afterwards. Rob, although we never dated, was easy going. Mark, on the other hand, won’t be easy. I’ll never have the upper hand even if I want it, but what do I do? I love him so, I want to spend more than just two and a half months with him alone. If I could stop him from being a control freak, stop him from caring about his persona, stop him from caring about money, just long enough to talk to him.. Will he ever let me talk, did he ever?  
Do I want to leave?  
Do I want to leave Mark pain that he’ll never express, pain he can only write about, pain nobody will know the true reason of?  
Do I want Mark to forever loathe me as much as he forever loves me?

I woke up the next morning with Mark kissing my face a thousand times. I can’t leave, I’m so in love with him.. With his groggy just waking up face and his stupid lip movements and the way he shakes his hips when he plays bass, it’s all so perfect.  
“Babe?” Mark says as he crawls over me, smiling a little bit. “Do you want to go out tonight?”  
I couldn’t help but smile- maybe I’m going crazy because I haven’t been anywhere else in so long. I love Room 93, I love Room 93 a lot, but maybe I just need a different scenery. “Yeah, Marky. What are you thinking?”  
“Well,” he adjusted himself on me to fit me better, our blanket between us and our boxers, “Maybe a movie, long romantic walk. Just something to ditch this place even for a few hours that isn’t the grocery store.”  
“Alright,” I say, not even realizing Mark wasn’t done talking.  
“Maybe even let you drink a little..”  
My eyebrows raised, because fuck yeah, I wanted that, but I also know he doesn’t truly want me to, does he? “Are you sure?”  
“Yeah, you are a grown man… barely.” He chuckled to me as he pulled me up into a kiss, wrapping his arms around my neck as I kept an arm behind me, stabilizing me. I don’t remember the last time I woke up with him like this, but I remember the first time. It was when we first started dating, and he woke me up because I had school that morning, and he told me I had to go regardless of how hungover I was and then I kissed him and refused to go. I didn’t go to school all the time, but just enough, and hey, as soon as my lips are on his dick I get everything I want, so it wasn’t a big deal and he forgot about it.  
“Yeah, you’re right, barely.” I got out breathy between kisses, anticipating my day for the first time in a long time. A nice day with Mark, a nice date with Mark, a nice drink with Mark, something so uniform, simple, mature but goofy enough to make it ours. “I want to make this day ours, Marky.”  
Mark broke our kissing and smiled wide at me, softly cupping a hand to my cheek. His hands felt so soft all the time, but just masculine enough to where if they’re against your face at speed… not so much. “Whatever you want, Tommy. I love you.”  
“I love you too, and whatever I want?” I raised a brow at him, pecking his lips. I knew that was a yes, and that also meant I was getting what I want. “I want you to be mine right now.” Mark complied.

When we got out later that day, it was really cold. I almost couldn’t believe that it was almost winter already- I had my big coat on, Mark had his on. Mine was red and leathery and his had the fur edges and was fuzzy on the inside, which isn’t surprising for Mark, since he likes things that look animalistic. The leaves were a myriad of colors, oranges and yellows and reds. At one point, we sat on a bench and I mentioned to him why leaves are like that, why they fall in autumn for winter. I did it in more scientific terms, telling him about the photosystems that control it, but then I just ended up saying, “Yeah, they fall because they turn a different color.” It made him laugh, but I’m not sure he was listening to that, either- he’s a very visual person, if something catches his eye, he’ll watch it and drone the world out around him. He was doing that with the leaves, with the weather. He did it to me on stage a lot earlier when we were getting famous with blink- at first, it was awkward to me, I sweated every night over thinking that someone saw him look at me too long and just knew it, he always told me to say fuck it but don’t deny it, just change the subject in a “Tom DeLonge” way. I always did, but so many times did I want to run on stage and confess my love to him regardless of Scott or Travis behind us.  
“I love you, Marky.”  
He broke his staring at the leaves, almost looking surprised that I said that out loud in a romantic way. We weren’t touching at all- we got used to that within months of us being together. I just wonder sometimes where life would have gone had we been open the minute it all happened. Would I be here with him on this bench in a retreat/punishment trying to prove my love to a band that doesn’t love me?  
“I love you too, Tommy.”  
I know you do, Mark. But where’s my value? Who am I when I’m not yours? Who am I when I want freedom to do something with the band? Who was I to you when Travis and I went off and did Box Car Racer and left you almost completely in the dust?  
“When’s the movie start?” I asked, examining his face too much. I do that when I’m contemplating a lot, too, I guess, but I think I do it whenever I’m thinking negative thoughts. If Mark’s a flower, I’m a knife.  
“Soon, let’s make our way there, shall we?”

After the movie ended, I crawled into bed with him, holding him tightly as if I never would again, even though I knew I would. He had told me a million times on the car ride home how much he loved me and how much he wanted blink to be fixed, how much he’d do anything. And, that meant he was desperate, but Mark gets desperate and then doesn’t admit it and doesn’t change as a whole.  
“Mark?”  
He turned to me, his hair falling into his face. “Yes, Tom?”  
“Do you ever think blink can be fixed?”  
“I.. I don't know, Tommy.” At least he answered it honestly, that’s something right?  
“Do you think we’re having problems because we love each other?”  
“No.” He cupped my face softly, “It never really was before. We released our entire discography being in love like we were 17.”  
“But we’re not 17 anymore, Mark.” I said, examining his face. “I'm not 17, you're not 17, blink isn't a matter of doing whatever the fuck we want anymore. You know? Punk rock isn't freedom like we thought now that we aren’t 17.”  
“17 17 17, you sound like Billy Corgan writing Adore.” Mark joked at me, knowing how much I loved the Pumpkins. I loved Adore as much as mass media loved Mellon Collie- a whole lot, one listen enough to change anybody. “I get it Tom, I really do. But it's late, shouldn’t we sleep?”  
Why can't you cooperate with me regardless of the time of day? Why do you push the problems away as soon as I want to talk about it? Why do I know if I keep this conversation up, you're going to bitch at me? Why do I do this, why do you do this?  
“Are you really all that tired, Mark.” I asked flatly, flatter than him singing M+M’s. I know he isn’t, I know he’s going to say no, and then I know this conversation will continue until one of us is beat to the floor, metaphorically or physically, I'm not sure which. How could I ever be sure? Mark and I rarely fought with hands but sometimes it came to that, mostly if we were drunk, but this is won't be good for Mark. It won't be good for me. Why leave when I'm the one claiming it's love, why am I staying when Mark doesn’t know if it can all be fixed?  
What am I staying for?  
Because blink is my life?  
Blink isn’t my life.  
I have Jen and a family, and I could make another band like I did with Box Car Racer, and although that wasn’t super big, I could create a band better than that, a band where I'm in charge and every note could be spewed of perfection.. Not spewed of something Mark ate an hour before at Sombreros, not something so meaningless because it isn't a single.  
“No, Tom. But I don't want to deal with this.”  
“Of course you don’t, Mark.” I threw the cover off of me and got out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. Room 93 almost looked gold right now- the spray paint, the soft lighting, like I was in a melting pot with the taste of metal in my mouth.  
“What does that mean?” I turned the sink on, the sink I used to turn on to pop pills- now, I'm just washing my face in frustration. I'm so tired of trying to fight him for dominance, as if I don't already have it. As if I'm not the one who typically tops when we get comfortable, as if I'm not the better musician in the trio.  
“Fuck, I need a cigarette,” he mumbled, walking back to the tiny chestnut table he reads at and firing one up, immediately taking a huge puff. I watched the cherry from the bathroom, and then I took a look at Mark Hoppus- who he was, how he was standing. Carefree but tense, always on the verge between life and death. And for the first time, I realized that Mark and I should never have been together.  
With his stupid blonde hair and his stupid carefree persona, with eyes like the ocean he drowns me in.  
With his stupid smile that turns to a grimace, with his hands that hit my heart and body too often.  
With his bass he barely knew how to play and his fame for being the better one when my personality pulled blink together.  
With his audacity to be mad I created Box Car Racer when he puts chloroform over my mouth whenever I want leeway.  
“Mark. Your first clutch is always a carcinogen tube giving you cancer and ruining your voice. You told me a million fucking times you’d stop and a million and one times I never believed you.” I spat at him, slamming the bathroom door shut and making my way to him. He suddenly looked so small compared to my almost 6 and a half foot stature, like he was a little puppet.  
“Says the guy who got fucking hooked on pain pills.”  
He’s absolutely right, but at what price?  
“Tom, we’re both sinners. Why are you trying to point out my flaws and ignore your own?”  
By now, I was towering over him, glaring at him dead in the eye, his gorgeous but deadly blue eyes piercing at me softly, making me want to cry and also beat the shit out of him. When did I become so angry?  
“Because you act as if you don't have any. Lead singer of blink-182, Mark Hoppus, everyone knows your name. As if how much your name gets passed around is who you define yourself as. Like there is no such thing as bad publicity, but you don't have any because you're perfect. You're not perfect, Mark!”  
“Tom, shut up-” Mark growled from under me, but I kept bitching.  
“No, you always try to get me to shut up, like I'm your little slave. You agreed to this whole motel outing because you believed at some point I'd just give up and play how you wanted me to play and then blink would be all hunky dory again. You're not perfect, far from it Mark, you’re controlling-”  
He cut me off, taking a step closer to me as if there was one to take. “And you're a perfectionist, you ignore people, you don't ever fucking give the past a rest and then you turn everything around like it didn't fucking happen.”  
“I'd rather be a perfectionist asshole than a careless loon.”  
He rolled his eyes, then walked out of the motel door as if he was going to leave, but I know he just needed fresh air. Mark does that a lot, going outside to get fresh air, I've seen it a million times. It's extra, but of course I love it when it isn't against me.  
It's always against me.  
“Mark.” I walked out of the door after a few seconds, watching him turn around with a cigarette in his mouth. “Mark, just listen to me, for once.” I tried to sound sincere- I wanted to be sincere. I'm tired of fighting with him, I just want him to understand me when all is lost and I can't even understand myself.. I never have been able to, but Mark was always there.  
“Tom, how am I supposed to listen when everything you’ve ever wanted in life hasn’t changed?” The blond walked up to me like he was going to hug me, but I knew he wasn’t. “All you ever wanted was to be the biggest rocker of any generation, the next Jim Morrison if you will, all you’ve wanted was to be important and relevant. What can't you understand about the fact it's 2004, and blink has been the same for the last decade? We hit it big, now we’re riding down out of the aftermath, but there’s not much left, not unless you participate.”  
“Mark,” I raked my hand in his hair, having him look at me in the eyes. Blue met mine again, but this time they were better, softer. “I want to participate, but you don't let me pitch in anything that’s new, something we haven’t done in the last decade.”  
“I don't know if I'm ready to try it.”  
You don't know if you want to try it.  
“Can you?” I asked, kissing his forehead. I know he can, Mark’s capable of anything. But he’s one of those people perfectly stable with being locked in a motel room for however long- endless, even. He doesn’t like to fly, he plucks off his feathers and then blames me, says it's my fault.  
“Maybe.” His voice softened, and I wasn’t satisfied with that, but how can I be? I know the answer should always be in my favor. “Can we sleep?”  
“I guess so..” I said to him as I held out my arm for him to walk in front of me, then slapping his ass on the way in. I love Mark’s ass, have I ever said that? And I love toppling over him, and I also love how I know I shouldn’t have sex with him tonight knowing both of our emotions are unstable, but I'm going to anyway. I can get some of my anger out that way, push him around, choke him, fuck him hard. He’ll love it, so it's okay.

“Mark?” I wake him up for the first time in forever, holding his face in my hands. He groaned slightly and then opened his eyes, and I could tell he wasn’t done sleeping this early, but for whatever reason I was. “I love you.”  
“I love you too, above everything.” He brought me into a kiss, enough to keep me alive and running today.  
“Are we going to try to play again today, Marky?” I asked, still looking at his blue eyes. He almost glowed, and I don't know why. The whole room was gold again, but for some reason now it illuminated him, only made him look more heavenly. I love Mark, I really really do, but I need to stop measuring it all with the past. I need to start thinking of the future, and a future with him and blink.  
A future about me.  
One where I'm what I always dreamed of-  
Someone who can spark a revolution with his music. Someone who will turn heads. A rock god.  
Tom DeLonge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> A Separate Peace  
> Smashing Pumpkins: 17, a song on Adore which is just piano, Billy Corgan the lead singer, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, their most famous album  
> Jim Morrison, singer of the Doors


	6. Trouble

MARK POV

Skye called that day in the middle of practice. Tom had been acting a lot better, but I couldn’t and don't understand why he’s like this. When he was quitting the pills, he’d sleep talk and tell me about space and about being a rock god, then when he woke up he’d say he wasn’t thinking about those things at all. He’d tell me he was thinking about all of those times we spent when we were teenagers and how we fell in love, and I couldn’t help but think he had some motive for telling me that. Now, looking at him, I can tell he’s changed a lot since he was 17. He’s less off the walls bouncy, he’s very “get it done right or don’t get it done at all,” and he’s not content with what his life is right now. I can tell he wants more, but hasn’t blink been everything? Haven’t I been everything? Where is yes and no, where is it all black and white? Tom’s so used to being free on stage. And I guess he’s right when he says I control him in practice.. I can’t say I try to, but he’s so much better than me, I can’t let him have the spotlight. Just today from me being silent I can tell everything he wants isn't with me or blink or even Travis, but his goal’s been the same since Day 1:  
The sky.  
“Hey babe, I was calling to check how you were doing. I talked to Jen and Travis the other day, we had coffee.”  
“Hey love,” I smiled slightly, sinking into the chair I read in, crossing my legs with my black jeans on them. “I’m okay, nothing’s great right now, but you know.” Tom glared at me with an almost what do you mean this isn’t great? It’s great for me.  
“I’m good, thanks for asking,” she laughed at me. “Is there anything I can help with? Jen and I have been really concerned, you know. This whole ordeal wasn’t supposed to last as long as it’s been.”  
“How long has it really been?” I asked, confused. How much time has Tom stolen from me?  
“Almost three months, Mark,” she softly spoke but ended it with a sigh. “Don't you think it’s time to give it all a rest? Maybe you can try again with Tom in a couple months..”  
“No, Skye.” I cut her off, sitting up straight. “I want this fixed. You know?”  
I wasn’t paying much attention as Tom got up to stand outside. He rarely did that, typically I was the one doing that. It seemed odd to me, but I wasn’t going to argue.  
“Mark, I get it, but is it worth it at all anymore? How many nights have you texted me saying you don’t know where it’s all going? How many nights did you tell me it was great, how many nights did you tell me it was bad? There was a lot, every night was a little bit of both.”  
“Skye,” I choked, biting on my lip, “Are you insinuating I should leave Tom?”  
“Have you considered it?”  
No.  
Yes.  
“I- I don’t know. He’s a handful, but there’s too much about him to just leave. I helped him get off of pills within these three months.” I fell in love again within these three months. I held him almost every night within these three months. Why would I throw it all away due to uncertainty? Why should I, if at all? What will I gain if I leave? “I don’t know, Skye, I just don’t want to. We’ve been a roller coaster these months. Can’t I have more time?”  
“Mark, you have all the time in the world.” She promised me this, I could tell. Having all the time was a promise. “But it probably won’t get better.”  
“Today’s been one of the better days-”  
“Don’t make an excuse. Is he even standing in the same room as you?”  
“No.”  
“Why is that, Mark?” She’s right, why is that? He never goes outside during my phonecalls. What’s he thinking of? Is he thinking of leaving? He doesn’t want to give me personal space because he knows he takes up all of that and I let him.  
“I don’t know.”  
“Well, I have to go. I love you.”  
“I love you too, babe.”  
I did love Skye, I’ll always love Skye. Why did I let Tom take that away from me? Why do I let Tom blind me?  
I walked outside, it was really cold. It’s almost winter, I had to remind myself. Almost immediately I had cold shivers, and then I remembered that Tom is a crazy person that likes the cold. He like eating ice cream in winter, he likes fucking around with the snow whenever it’s around. He’s fearless whenever it comes to the weather- he’d streak in a blizzard if he had the chance. He was standing there in his Atticus shirt and his hands were in the pocket of his jeans, and just by looking at his stature, I had the answer to my question. I let Tom blind me because he’s stronger than the sun. I let him take my love because he deserves it, my best friend and bandmate. He’s been my everything for as long as I can remember. As many times as I’ve hit him, as he’s hit me, as many times as we’ve fucked each other over.. I can't leave him no matter how hard I tried.  
Even if Tom let me, I wouldn’t leave him.  
“You alright?” I asked, wrapping my arms behind his waist.  
“Yeah, I’m fine, Mark. Isn’t it strange to think it’s almost winter? It’s supposed to be cloudy tomorrow.”  
“I mean, I guess so. I could spend years with you, like I have. The changing seasons don’t bother me, you know.”  
“Yeah, I know, Marky.” Tom seemed so off right now, so distant from everything. “Do you believe that God put us together?”  
“Maybe. We are two people he’d hate, might as well have them both together, right?” Tom then turned around to look at me, wrapping his hands around my belt loops like he always does.  
“I guess you’re right,” he smirked at me, looking eager for something. “Might as well cause a little trouble while we’re together, right? Although we’re not 17 anymore, we still are Mark and Tom, the two dumpweeds from a band called blink-182.”  
“True,” I nodded, kissing his chin softly. He had grown out the hair there slightly, and I didn't notice it until now. “Tom..” I choked out, having his laid back expression turn into concern as quick as fire lights. “You love me right?”  
“Of course, Mark.” His shaggy brunette hair covered up a lot of his face. “When has that ever been a question?” Every day for the last three months.  
“I was just making sure. I love you too, Hot Pants.”  
We went back inside and cuddled, and then I decided I wanted to look through all of the pictures we’ve taken in the last three months. I sent Skye a lot of them, but not all of them. Each of them made him giggle a lot, he kissed me a lot randomly. It was all so pure, something I hadn’t felt with him in a long time. No pot, no alcohol, no pills and no cigarettes. Just two boring men being boring but loving.  
He grabbed my phone and then started taking more pictures, and in the middle of all of the funny ones we were taking, I realized we hadn’t taken any pictures on his phone. I didn't want to think of it that way- Tom never took pictures with me on his phone, anyway.  
“Hang on a second.”  
I leaned over him on the bed and grabbed his phone and opened the camera, then took a picture of him, just him. He looked surprised and confused, but he pulled it off in such a Tom DeLonge way with a goofy lopsided smile. And then I laid back down next to him and kissed his cheek and took a picture, and then another one of us kissing. Tom would never forget me anyway, but now with these pictures he never will. Is it bad that I’m even considering that Tom would forget about me?  
I feel so weak.

Later, Tom and I decided to call Travis and talk to him. He asked how we were doing, but also why we weren’t making progress, and Tom spoke above me this time saying that he was sure within a couple days we’d be back to normal again. But it made me think, what was our normal? He told me I never let him add to the music, and he’s partially right. I was always the one in charge, it was always my project when blink did something adventurous, something troublesome. The phone call lasted hours on hours, though- it was like we were all agreeing through the call, with Tom laying on the floor and me on the bed. Almost like we were teens again.  
And then, after the call, Tom told me to come down and lay down on the floor with him and look at the stars. Him and I both knew they were just little spray paint stars, but we acted at that moment like they were real, like they shined a million miles away.

On one of our first dates, in a field, Tom showed me all he knew about constellations. He had a book about them and he kept grabbing my hand to show me where they were and what star sign went with whichever one, if there was one. And then he told me he liked space a little bit too much to ignore it on a daily basis, how he liked to go outside and get high and stare at the moon for hours at a time, how he’d walk to the nearest park and swing and watch the stars move with him. And I told him that he seemed more like a cosmonaut now than a skateboarder, and how there was so much more to him than his skateboard and guitar. That definitely wasn’t the first time I told him I was in love with him, but I know I told him a whole lot that night. I remember cupping his face and kissing him, I remember being the dominant one because I was older and stronger than him. He loved being submissive then, loved having a boyfriend and bandmate that was out of high school, and he acted like the end of high school was the end of him and then I changed that all. He told me a lot that night, and I remember it because he told me his favorite constellation was Pisces because it was one of the few zodiac signs with two images, and that it wasn’t Gemini because he liked fish more than people. And then I told him I liked Pisces because my zodiac was Pisces.  
That was the constellation we were looking at right now.  
I wonder if Tom knows I remember little things like that.

“Marky.” Tom reached out to me, dragging me up on my feet forcefully but also playfully.  
“Yes, Tommy?” Giggling, I stumbled into his arms as he stabilized me and told me he wanted to have a fire. “In the parking lot?”  
“Yeah, why not?”  
So we sat out by the fire for hours, almost up until the sun came up. Him and I had to gather leaves from around the road with our bare hands, and part of me was concerned that someone was going to come out and tell us we couldn’t do that, but nobody was around. It was almost like the Pink Motel was a barren wasteland. And, then when we went inside, Tom crashed before I did. That was rare, but it happened a couple times, especially whenever he got trashed or high.  
I decided to look through his stuff and his red doodled notebook, and he has poetry and song lyrics written everywhere. It even had a draft for Letters to God- I couldn’t tell if it was a draft for the original, or a new one. It wouldn’t surprise me if Tom stayed up and just wrote new drafts for this song. It was definitely one of his favorites from the Box Car Racer album, I remember Travis telling me about how he came in and as soon as he started signing, he was crying. Letters to God means a whole lot to him. There was more, too- things that seemed like they were about me, things about being in love with someone who never achieves their dreams, things about a cosmonaut never reaching space. There were definitely things about Jen, too- sometimes he’d doodle her, say she was a goddess.. It made me feel horrible. I’ve spent all of this time with Tom, all of these years, but neither of us are Skye nor Jennifer. It’s almost like we’re trapped in a fantasy in that we’re still little lost boys starting a band that immediately got in legal trouble due to their name. I still want this fantasy- maybe that’s part of the problem. I still want Tom under my wing, I still want him to be my little experiment. Does Tom know I did it all because I loved him, because I love him? Does Tom know I don’t understand love very well?  
What doesn’t Tom know?  
I looked at everything so carefully, everything about God to space. None of them were really about anything blink did, and maybe Tom deserves more than blink right now. He’s a damn good writer, with real talent, talent that doesn’t belong with pop punk and booze and getting naked and starting a riot. But I don't wanna let him go, I don’t want to go back home.  
Why am I acting like he’s letting go?  
I crawled into bed not too long after, and I woke up around noon, and Tom wasn’t around. I laid in bed and texted Skye, thinking he was just at the grocery store or something, and then after an hour of texting or so she said, “Did Tom ever come back? You said he was at the store. x” And then I sat up and looked outside, as if that was the signal he was pulling in the driveway and that he’d be home here again. But all I saw was my car with snow all over it. Lots of snow. I guess Tom did say it was supposed to start snowing soon at some point, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention. I texted Skye and said, “Just looked outside, not back. Why did you ask?” Within a minute or two, she replied: “R u sure he didn’t leave? x.”  
I continued looking out the window for a second. Is Skye crazy? Tom wouldn’t just up and leave like that, would he? No, he wouldn’t, there’s no reason to. He’s at the store. But him and I went shopping a couple days ago, we have food. Where is he?  
I look around Room 93 like I’ve never seen it before.  
An empty room with me in it, looking like a lot child. I pulled a cigarette out of my pack on the table, immediately feeling relieved due to the menthol I inhaled. I'm stressed for nothing.  
I look around and around, and I realize that I really am alone. All I’ll ever be is alone, because all I ever do is control people. I don’t love with roses, I love with nails. Tom told me that, once, a long time ago. He was joking at the time, but I’ve never gotten it out of my head, because it’s all absolutely true. Everything Tom’s ever spoke about me, negative or positive, it’s all been true. But even now I don’t think he speaks negative of me, really. He loves me to death. I love him to death. If you love something, then it loves you back, in whatever way it has to love. A lesson I learned from Finny in that stupid book I’ve read while I was here. Read over and over, analyzed every word on every page.  
And, then I noticed Tom left something on his side of the bedtable.  
_Here’s Your Letter._  
I chuckled slightly at the reference, but that didn't stop me from wanting to cry. I already know what this is by barely opening it- wrote on his shitty notebook paper, something he wrote at probably 8 in the morning.  
There was a doodle of me in the top left corner, that’s the first thing I noticed.  
_Dear Mark, my best bassist and best friend,_  
_I am deeply sorry._  
_I truly am._  
_But I absolutely cannot take this, and blink-182 anymore. Go on without me, break up, you and Travis decide. I can't do this anymore. I need something more than a punk rock band, you and I both know I’m not a punk rocker anymore- punk doesn’t make my heart warm up like it did when I was 17. My heart just doesn’t warm up when I think about us anymore, and you know, it shouldn’t. We both have loving wives and families, we’re just living out a memory that isn’t ours to have anymore. You and I can’t be together like this, huddled in a room for months in hiding. It only belonged in a tour bus, and it belonged there because that’s what we chose. We didn’t choose this, Mark. Travis, Jen, and Skye did. They did this because they care about us, and it wasn’t a waste of time. I spent 3 months holding someone I love at night, all night every night. I got off of pain pills. I realized that I just need to be more. I need to be more than a punk rocker, more than just your closet lover, more than your musical slave._  
_Please don’t take that the wrong way.  
Mark, you have a tendency to want to control fire, as if you’re not water. You want to control me, but the second you can’t, you drown me out. I don’t have any space anymore, and I need it. I don’t know what I’m going to do next in life, I don’t know if it’s going to be bigger than blink or just another Box Car Racer, but whatever I do, I hope you support me. Because regardless of what you do, I will full-heartedly support you.  
And no, you cannot change my mind here.  
I’ve got my mind made up this time._  
_I will always love you, Mark Hoppus. From the first time I kissed you, to the last time. I hold our memories dearly, I still idolize you. You are my best friend, my everything. I’m going to print out the pictures we took on my phone. And, I’m sorry if I never thought about taking pictures before on my phone, it just passed me by. I never thought there would be a time I wouldn't spend with you, you know? But that time has come. We aren’t 17 anymore. You and I are different people now. I no longer love those times we fought, I no longer desire to fight with you, and I know that’s only mutual. You can act like I’m the apple of your eye, but I know deep down you always think about Skye and yourself, and I think I do it too with Jen. And, it’s okay, I understand it, Mark. I just don’t understand the game we’ve been playing with ourselves these past months. I don’t understand who you’re becoming and why you want to leash me up like a dog. I don’t understand why I’m suddenly not enough to you, or even too much, I can't tell which. I guess it doesn’t matter now.  
Please Mark, don’t lose touch with me.  
I do love you._  
_I love you,_  
_It just isn’t above everything now._  
 _The world is more than just what you see._  
 _And I hope, someday you can open your eyes and realize that that’s true._  
 _So, I guess this is goodbye. I genuinely hope it isn't for long, but I just know for the next phase of my life, you can’t take part in it. But I love you, and I love Travis, and I love the beautiful mess we made called blink-182._  
 _-Tom DeLonge_

I cried and cried and cried for I don’t know how long. Every time I looked up, I saw the walls, saw the big blink-182 we painted, saw the stars on the ceiling, I saw it all, but all I saw was Tom. And when I stopped looking and crying, I started smoking, and before I knew it, my pack was out.  
And, then I had to start packing.  
If Tom could start a new chapter without me, why can I do the same?  
Because I love him and I need him.  
But I can, right?  
Tom always told me how talented I was, he even always said I was his favorite bassist, and it’s always going to be true.  
I started crying again, I looked over the letter again. And then I looked outside, saw the snow, and realized, this was truly the end of blink-182. The end with a letter and a white day. So cold.

I dialed Travis up.  
“Hey man, what’s up?” He said, almost excited for whatever I was about to say, and I felt my heart break in two. Nothing about what I was about to say was positive.  
“Blink.. it’s over, Travis.”  
“ _Fuck_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> Letters to God, a Box Car Racer song, and I also alluded to part 2, which would be a future Angels and Airwaves song
> 
> So yeah, that's it. I hope you enjoyed reading it, I tried to make it as realistic as possible, which is why Skye and Jen are in it. I'm not a huge fan of fics where they cheat on their wives, but due to the time period of this fic that's what had to happen. I swear, I'm not condoning cheating at all. But anyways, thank you.


End file.
